


A Dancer Never Forgotten

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Court Trial, M/M, Massage is explicit, blowjob, sex inferred not explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-12 04:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: John sees Sherlock, the dancer, before deploying to Afghanistan. The voyage of discovery for John takes place over years.





	1. John's University Life

**Author's Note:**

> There's a bit of porn but mostly it's not explicit, just implied. Except for the massage scene.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John in university

University! What a relief to finally be here! It took a great deal of work, concentration, and keeping out of trouble. But here I am!

* * *

Why am I glad to be here? My home life is not exactly a fairy tale.

* * *

My father is an alcoholic, and our house is incessantly in turmoil. His tantrums make it impossible to study comfortably at home. My older sister manages to stay away, sleeping at a friends house, while I try to protect mom from my father's hitting and get pummeled myself as a result.

* * *

My last year before leaving the house Dad disappears on us, and the quiet and relief is enough for me to pass my tests.

* * *

The university is sprawling. Nothing like my tiny school near my house where I grew up knowing almost all the kids.

I'm rooming with two other blokes, both not interested in studying, more into the girls and the parties.

Quickly learning that drinking is not what I want to do and the womanizing, well, it's how many you can screw and how fast. Not my cup of tea.

I either stay in my room when the guys are out or find the chemistry lab and use it as my study room.

* * *

There's a girl from my maths class, Joyce by name, and she offers to assist me with maths and chemistry. She's very much the quiet type, like me.

* * *

A small, brown-haired girl, not what one would call pretty and who's bashful in a crowd. She opens up in my presence, and we become known as a couple and hang out playing cards, board games or watching stupid shows on the telly.

* * *

The rugby team is the only activity I join and find that being short in stature is an advantage. I tend to let go my temper a lot and being on the field certainly drives that anger in a different direction.

Jack Vance, another on the rugby team, is a senior, likable, cheerful, who loves cracking jokes and is opposite me in every way. Tall, outgoing, dark hair, always in a crowd. and for an ungodly reason, he befriends me.

* * *

Evenings that Joyce is not around I've taken to spending in Jack's dorm, and as always, he's surrounded by friends, male and female. Most of the time, I sit in the background, feeling comfortable in the camaraderie around me. Not needing to join in, to be a part of the teasing.

* * *

One evening, with only members of the team sprawling over the furniture, he pulls out magazines. Pornography periodicals. I've seen them, never owned any, but know what to expect. 

Until glancing closer and noting that they are Out and Spartacus magazines, for gay men. I've never seen this type, coming from a small town, homosexuality is not a discussed topic. At least not that I know about.

* * *

The guys pass them around, joshing, poking at each other. My interest piqued, I spend time perusing one, and Jack winks at me.

          "Never seen a man fuck another man before?"

          "No, it's not something my local newsstand would have. I've seen girlie mags, but nothing like this."

          "Repelled by it, John?" eyes twinkling, his tone of voice in friendly mocking.

          "More bewildered by it. Don't fancy I get it."

The crude jokes fly about the room. The magazine and its contents pique my curiosity. I don't know what to think about a man touching another man. It's so far out of my league. After looking my fill, I know it's late, and I have an early class in the morning. I say goodnight and take my leave.

* * *

The next night Joyce has canceled another evening with me. I'm beginning to suspect she has someone else on the line. Ah well, it stings, but I wasn't in love with her.

* * *

Not knowing what else to do, at sixes and sevens with myself I knock on Jack's door.

          "Hi, I'm alone right now, folding my laundry. Come in," he ushers me in, clapping me on the shoulder.

* * *

His room is shared by two others and unlike mine has single beds instead of bunk beds. His roomies are quite messy, but Jack's side is clean. Although right now there are clothes on the bed and books litter his desk chair.

* * *

          "Clear off the books and have a sit. I'll be a moment."

* * *

Breaking into a sly smile, working at folding his shirts, "I watched you checking out the men in the mags last night. You appeared curious, not offended as Doug or Evan were."

          "Yea. I've fucked women, but a man is-"

          "Different? Appealing to you, maybe? A curiosity to try?"

          "Why would you think I would want to try anything like that?" I know I come across as unsophisticated.

          "Maybe, well, let's say I have a suspicion that it might have turned you on," reaching under the bed and pulling out a magazine, laying it on my lap, bending over me, his eyes in line with mine.

* * *

I have trouble maintaining eye contact, embarrassed that he can see through me. Closer still, one hand clasps my jaw, and he gives a lick to my lips.

I draw back hastily, my head lurching back, knocking my neck on the back edge of the chair.

Trying to hold off closer contact my hands grip the seat, pushing up, but his knees are up against mine. Disturbed, bothered with this turn of events, I show it, crossing my arms in front of me in defense.

          "You want to leave, don't you? Or maybe give a little kiss to this gay man? Yes, I'm gay. What say you?"

* * *

He steps away from my chair, I draw myself up, squaring my shoulders, ready to shift around him. His arms open wide, capturing me in them, embracing me. I struggle to muscle out of his clutches but can't break loose.

* * *

Pulling my head towards him with one hand firm on my neck he plants a kiss lightly on my lips. Instead of jerking away in horror I find it quite unusual. I can feel his stubble, the opening of his mouth soft and no different from a female.

* * *

I choose to respond, my curious nature piqued. 

Wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him down to my face, taken aback by my eagerness, my tongue lashes out, teasing, begging and he opens up, grazing the inside of his mouth. My body reacts, a thickness growing, a thrusting forward.

* * *

Competing thoughts run through my head, I'm able to push back, away from him, letting out a long breath, doorknob in hand," No, no, not me. I'm not one of you." 

* * *

My God, how long this day has been! After last night's encounter with Jack, I'm glad when the coach keeps me on the field after a long practice. We're discussing different tactics.

* * *

No one is in the locker room when I enter, I shower, throw on my sweatpants. Not hearing the door swing open because my shirt is over my head, arms entangled in the sleeves, I'm pushed face first against the locker, face jammed into my shirt.

Jack's babbling, sniffing at my neck, his torso tight against me.

           "Ah John, fresh from the shower, umm, you smell so clean."

Sucking on my neck, licking, biting my earlobe. His hand sneaks down the front of my pants; the string loosened, "So nicely packaged. How big can it get."

He's rutting up my backside, clutching my member, his hips moving in rhythm.

          " Stop, please, this is-"

          " No it's not rape. See how much you're rising to the occasion! You're enjoying it as much as I. Not gay you say, bull shit." 

My breath hitching, I shiver into him, flooding his hand and my pants. Bumping against my rear his hips twitch, he groans, spasms, and steps away.

His sticky hand he wipes off on my bare back, a laugh escaping him, the door shuts.

* * *

Shivering, I lower the sweatshirt down and sink to the floor, trying to catch my breath.

Deep down, in a lost hole in my gut, a nagging, a calling. It must be because I haven't gotten laid in awhile. A desperation. A need.

* * *

I quit the team, citing too much studying to do and steer clear of Jack and the evening soirees, tending to my studies or playing video games on my laptop.

* * *

The time seems to hustle on by, my having to take odd jobs after classes to help Mom out with finances.

* * *

It's time for graduation and Mom and Sis are there to celebrate with me, a dinner out afterward.

* * *

After graduating, I move in with Mom. My career as a doctor is forgotten. She cannot work long hours, and the money she makes is not enough to sustain her. I take on odd jobs at the local clinic and even night work as a security guard at the small shopping mall.

* * *

My sister is no help, going the way of my father with the love for alcohol to quell any emotion.

* * *

          "John, I've an idea. I really don't like it but it may be a good solution for both of us. Why not the army? Get your schooling and send some money home to me. I don't like the idea of you being shipped out, but-" 

          "Yes, you're right. It's good." I enlist and promise to send some money her way each month. This works well for both of us.

* * *


	2. Man on the Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sees Sherlock the entertainer

Two weeks before my deployment my long-time friend Mike joins me for a pint at a local pub.

Three pints of beer into the evening, Mike, cautiously clearing his throat staring at the telly over the bar, leans into me so I can hear his words.

          "What say we go to a real dive of a place? Something we would never think to do normally, but, since this is not normal circumstances, you leaving to go to parts unknown, I'd like to give it a go." His head is twisting to face me, dodging my eyes.

          "Okay, you're up to something no good. I can tell. Spill the beans."

His glass becomes his friend, hand spinning it around on the wood bar.

          "I thought it would be something unusual. I've always been freaked out at the idea of a gay men's club. No, not me, John. I'm not that way, don't even think it.

* * *

          "The other day at work one of the guys was chatting about this club and the main attraction. He doesn't strip, doesn't show anything but is the sexiest bomb on that stage. I thought, well, it might be so offbeat, that-"

He lets it hang in the air.

          "Now why the fucking hell would I-"

Holding up his hands, "Being straight myself I'd like to see what a gay club is about and this is a good chance. What about it? A goodbye extra?"

Shit, he's right. Ever since Jack, and that incidence, I've been uneasy, a pit in my stomach, 

* * *

We settle for tomorrow night. Mike will be picking me up in his car.

* * *

What a seedy part of town we're in! On the outside, the lighted sign reads 'Slinkys.'

* * *

Inside this looks like any two-bit pub my father used to visit. Dark, smelling of beer, sweat, and urine. No bar, just about a dozen tables with chairs, a platform toward the back, which I guess makes for a stage.

* * *

The men, young, old, alone and in pairs, are a rough looking bunch. Heavy drinkers I suppose, with maybe high school education.

* * *

The only table open is behind all the others, the furthest away from the platform. That's a laugh in itself; the place so tiny that the back means you can still easily see the raised area.

* * *

A scratchy recording of hip-hop begins as four men step out. Burly, in their forties. Red spotlights hit each showing them barechested with bellies hanging down over jeans, no shirts.

Mike nudges me, holding a beer in hand, I can tell he's ill at ease.

The four men split in the middle, each off to one side of the stage. No dance moves, just undulating as best as the can; they divest themselves of their jeans.

* * *

I'm turning sour on this idea, it's creepy and not entertaining.

* * *

The yellow thongs they display only serves to emphasize their droopy stomachs. Pivoting, their backs now to us, each leans over to remove their last vestige of clothing, bare-assed, dipping to pick pants and thongs up, with a swishing of their asses they're off the platform.

* * *

As this so-called strip act is occurring the watchers' holler, pound the tables, screaming with every obscenity being hurled out.

* * *

Standing up, feeling queasy in my stomach, Mike pulls me down. Close to me, in my ear, so I can hear him, " supposedly the main attraction is yet to be on stage. I want to see what the fuss is all about. Let's stay." 

* * *

In disgust, I sit down, Mike calling for more beer.

* * *

The stage is dark, the music gone. A hush descends. A lean, tall figure strolls into a white spotlight, highlighting him and him alone.

* * *

My breath disappears. My heart dives to my groin.

* * *

The shiny long-sleeved black shirt is open down to the tucked portion at his waist, his chest revealed. His liquid-looking black pants, straining, bordering on painted-on, illuminates every contour, every vein in his bundle. Slim legs, spread apart, hands dragging down over his hips, up over his abdomen, his chest. 

Fingers tracing the shape of his sharp cheekbones, up to trail into his curls, fluffing them, head shaking them.

* * *

Curls that blossom out in dark tendrils, almost down to his shoulders, eyes that pierce each corner of the room, bow-like lips, parted now, tongue out, circling his lips, 

* * *

          "He's gorgeous," I whisper to no one but myself.

* * *

Looking straight ahead his large hands, slide down his chest, then up to his shoulders under the shirt. Swiveling around, showing off the tightness of his ass, the well-toned thighs, transmitting sex as his face looks over his shoulder; he drops his shirt down to his waist. 

Straightening up he tosses his curly head, and the shirt falls away from his body, the sleeves downing his arms.

Before it reaches the floor he tosses it to the back. Back facing the crowd his hands caress his chest, move to the waistband of his jeans, his thumbs tugging them down, down to where his pubic bone begins.

* * *

I vaguely hear the hollering, shouting, Mike along with them.

I can't shout, my throat dry. I sit transfixed, my eyes never blinking, heady, endorphins overcoming me.

* * *

He looks coyly around and he unzips. His feet splayed out, the flaps open, a dark patch of curly hair. His hand dives in, cupping himself.

I'm aware of my moans, my burgeoning tightness in my jeans.

          "Take it off, let's see cock." Noises in the background, fluttering around me, the strong scent of sex. I'm babbling those words, overcome, like a rocket heading into space. 

His head thrown back, his right-hand quickening, his left running through his hair, he groans, resonating through the floor, through to my frame.

Removing his hand from his black outfit, each finger disappears into his mouth, slurping. Strutting to the side of the podium, stepping down and off to the side, he's gone.

* * *

The mob is howling, clapping, stamping. Stepping onto the platform white-haired man appears, shouting above the noise he appeals to the crowd.

* * *

          "A tip box is going around for Sherl. Tip generously. He does not get a salary," and walks off.

* * *

Into my ear, I hear Mike," Hey, wake up. Hey you!" Pushing at my shoulder, "you're in a trance. What the hell's the matter?"

Shaking myself I sway, dizzy with desire, my trousers full, so tight I ache.

* * *

The tip box is in front, digging into my pocket I throw some bills in the box. Have no idea how much, but the intake of Mikes breath tells me it's more than enough.

* * *

          "Let's get out of here," trying to feign indifference.

          "What did you think? Hey, he got to you didn't he? Come on man, look at you! You're white, shaky and have a trouser full."

* * *

Not even attempting to reply, I sit quietly for the ride home, while Mike tries to talk to me and I answer in grunts or short bursts.

          "John, snap out of this. He's a drug addict and a fucking stripper. And, you're not that way."

          "You're right. It was something new, and I got lost in the moment."

I visibly shake myself, hoping that Mike thinks I'm back to my ordinary self. In reality, I'm not sure what normal is right now.

* * *

In my room, I quickly divest myself of my clothes, lie down and wank off to the vision of Sherl and his body. I haven't been with anyone since the incident in the locker room. Man or woman, I prefer to take care of myself. More and more it's clear that a male body can captivate me as much as a woman.

* * *

I resist going back to Slinkys for two nights, and finally, temptation overriding all else I'm on the tube, getting there early to sit up front. Removing the other chair at my table, making it clear that I don't want company, beer in hand I remain tense waiting for him to appear. 

* * *

The white spotlight on, he appears, his features more sharp and angular than I've noticed before. Those curls, dark, untamable, eyes are frankly assessing all around him.

* * *

Younger than me, maybe in his late teens. How did someone so ridiculously ravishing end up in this life?

* * *

Yes, I feel cursed. Everything I felt the first time occurs again, the tingling, electric pulses, the fiery pulsing in my prick.

* * *

I take the tube to Slinkys, again and again, each night a drug, a concoction of addictive overload. 

'John Watson', you're a fool, taking the same table each night.

* * *

During these performances, his eyes brush my face, melancholy, and drug-hazed, and my senses shatter in all directions. On the one hand, sympathetic, on the other wanting to shag him senseless. No, more than that. To enfold him in my arms, shelter him.

* * *

This is my last day before I leave England. I pack what little belongings I can take in my duffel bag. There's not much anyhow.

* * *

'John, you leave early tomorrow. Your last night, where do you want to go?' talking to myself. Knowing damn well that I'm taking the tube to Slinkys, one last time.

* * *

The show is over I step behind the platform to find his dressing room.

          "Where do you think you're going," an immense hulk of a man stepping in front of me.

          "I'm being deployed to Afghanistan tomorrow and would love to spend a moment with Sherl." The bouncer is adamantly saying no, and a deep, rich baritone utters,"let him pass."

* * *

He's wearing those exquisite pants and motions with a hand to follow, to a room that's closet size. The door closes behind; he straddles his chair, the only one in the small space.

* * *

          "You're going to serve our country. How admirable of you," his tone cutting.

          "You can't afford university, the Army is your schooling. A doctor." 

His eyes, looking fixedly, with a stare that envelops, flooding my senses. The color, a bluish, green, searching my depth, my soul.

* * *

          "You are not gay, profess to be straight, but yet, here every night."

* * *

I stand like a stupid kid, afraid to take off, afraid to address him.

* * *

Languidly standing, "If you fancy a sexual encounter with me the answer is no."

          "I would-could you-," sputtering, holding my mobile up, with a wobbly hand, almost dropping it.

          " You want a picture of me? How odd. But doable."

Veiled, eyes glossy, he snatches my hand, letting fly the door and out into the street. Standing, leaning against a streetlight illuminating the pavement, the brightness framing the front of his body he quietly declared.

          "When I say snap the picture, do so."

He unzips his pants, tugging one side lower to show his hipbone. Head tossed, his curls down to his eyes, "now."

Thumbs locked into those black pants, pulling them down, his pubic hair curling, darker even still in this dimness, his eyes anchored, searching deep into me, "now."

I can hardly hold the mobile still, hands twitchy, all else forgotten at this moment.

One hand slides down inside, arranging his package until I see the outline of his manhood.

          "Oh god, no!" engulfed, spiraling downwards, my stare narrowed to one area.

Legs spread wide, his pants spanning his hipbone, his hands now both inside, as if cupping his prick, "now."

          "I'm giving you a quick glimpse. Are you ready?"

And lifting my mobile up, he draws out his prick, his bollocks, and as quickly places it back, hidden. I bring off a few snaps, my deep intakes of breath. my own arousal has me not sure of what I saw, what pictures I managed to get.

* * *

Stepping into the darkness, close to me, his fingers brush my cheek.

          " Your name?"

          "John Watson."

          "John Watson, be safe. Come home to us."

Closer still he reaches down, his lips on mine, his hand groping. I wilt into him, my sighs, groans, as he brings me to a climax. I sag onto his chest.

Swiftly moving away he disappears back in the pub.

* * *

I have to take a cab home. My trousers wet, my mouth, my body, my soul is gone.

* * *


	3. Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's story

Such a strange encounter! John Watson!

From the first night, sitting at a table with a friend, I observed him, not gay, maybe bisexual.

And his returning, on his own, the table claimed for only him, his attraction to me, obsessive, childlike almost.

When he approached me, petrified as if I was a giant screen movie star, it was flattering.

* * *

I felt a gratification in granting his wish for a photo. Admitting to myself after going back into the club that I found something so appealing about him. John Watson, going to fight for his country, his main purpose is an education. 

I admire men with a purpose. My objective is my next snort of cocaine. How and where to obtain enough money to keep me in that foggy state.

* * *

Not able to maintain employment for any amount of time I drift towards the disreputable side of London. Many odd enterprises later I discover Slinkys.

The owner Walter, a former drug user, a gay man, I can tell he's ill at ease with my upper-class demeanor.

* * *

          "Why would I hire you? You're a druggie, you won't strip. What good are you to me?"

I ask for one night on the platform to perform and a tip bucket for myself alone. Any monies collected from that would be mine. I do not require a salary.

After seeing me, watching the crowds reactions, he hires me.

* * *

My work is unlike the other men and gains a following. I've assured a place on the platform as the money from liquor sales rises. My tip money keeps me in the bedsit, food and most important, drugs.

* * *

Working at Slinkys is effortless. The prostitution of my body expected of me from both employees and patrons is rapidly quashed. What I do not want or need is sex, whether male or female. Walter does not complain, to the point of allowing Eddie, the door keep, and bouncer to aid in staving off potential one nighters. Two of the men have regular bed clients, and Walter takes an allotment.

* * *

Contact with my family is non-existent except for my older brother Mycroft who has convinced himself to be my watchdog. Bailing me out of jail, into rehabs more than once. 

* * *

Mycroft maintains a mobile for me, picking up the tab. My whereabouts monitored all the time.

* * *

As the elder by nine years, Mycroft was not a big influence on me after he departed for the university. I resented his leaving me with two parents who were more involved in their work than in their child.

* * *

Alone, no friends, it wasn't until I went to university that I became involved with humanity. Sports, sex, drinking parties bored me. The only comfort was the immense laboratory in the science department. I would spend hours conducting experiments, peering into the microscope.

* * *

My grades were appalling, the professors dull, the subject matter boring.

I dropped out and drifted throughout most of England for two years. Always coming back to my city, London. The fragrances, the tang in the air, the local color kept my analytical mind sharp.

* * *

Rejoicing now in the city life I find a small flat in the heart of the metropolis. My fascination with the underbelly of the inner city and the homeless grow. I meet them, bringing food and develop a rapport with these people living in the streets. They have no pretensions, no affectations. Many a night I would lie down with the men and women, spend the night under a cardboard shelter or by a fire by the river. A hard life but one condensed into food and shelter.

* * *

University life had given me the opportunity to expose myself to drugs. Heroin being the introduction and commencing to cocaine.

It was effortless to chase down a dealer and obtain my fix.

* * *

It was during a surprise visit from Mycroft that he observed me in a drug-induced state of euphoria.

          "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, deliberately misusing your talents with abusive opiates is outrageous. I cannot authorize your wasteful use of your allowance. I'm withholding monies until you regain your senses." Mycroft is the executor of my parent's estate and holds sway over my income. A constant source of bickering, because the endowment states I come into my own at forty.

* * *

And, now finding I can't retain this flat on my income I give it up and move to my present bedsit. One room, dingy blue in color, the bed more a cot, a one-burner stove, smallish desk, and chair. A bathroom with sink, toilet, and shower, all mottled white, dirty rings so infused that no amount of scrubbing will erase it.

* * *

          "Sherlock, you know, you have the certain something, a presence on stage. If you quit the drugs you might make a name for yourself either in porn movies or at one of the big gay clubs," Walter is sat in my dressing room before the show.

          "Don't want money or fame."

          "Hey, that guy, the one who was in every night for a week. What went on with him? Eddie says you and he went outside for awhile."

          "Being deployed to the Middle East. Wanted pictures of me."

          "So, you've got an admirer! Did you-"

          "No!, Emphatically no."

Walter gets to his feet, giving a swipe to my hair, his pot beer belly jiggling.

          "Someday, you're gonna fall hard. I hope it's a good person. Underneath that coldness, Sherlock, you want someone to love."

* * *

No answer or comment is best.


	4. In Afghanistan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is in Afghanistan. A Major insists on sexual contact with the men. John steps in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A blowjob is done. The graphics left out.

The two and a half years I'm in Kabul and it's a wonderful learning adventure. It's the capital city of Afghanistan and pretty well modernized. I manage to pick up Pashtu, a local language. The people are beautiful in their dark-skins and almost pitch-black eyes. 

* * *

In my company of men, I instantly find common ground with Chris Carroll. Taller than me, a military haircut, he's open, sensitive and hails from Portsmouth. He can't stand to see anyone hurt, whether human or animal. It's also his first tour in Kabul, and we explore the city together, trying out the food, and the few museums that are left standing. Checkers is a game he plays and we spend evenings gaming.

* * *

We've not seen any combat, haven't been near the front lines, if there is such a thing here.

* * *

My schooling is through correspondence and classes at the base. I cram in as much as I can. Chris is a great one for coaching me. Making sure I take time to study.

* * *

Sometimes it appears like yesterday when I sat in a dingy gay bar, fantasizing about a man, a drug addict, a lost soul. I don't grasp why I keep his pictures on my mobile. I've replaced the darn thing twice and moved them over each time. I keep them a secret from the guys, having pictures of my favorite female movie stars prominent.

* * *

"John, we've gotten orders. Moving to a very remote piece of land with a Major James Sholto. I hear rumors of him. Not a nice guy," Chris informs me just as I'm leaving for class.

"Just saw the paperwork on the transfer. Another company will be heading up this operation. Ours is being broken up with only six men including us, Sholto leading. And from the roster, it looks like we're all crack shots. Strange, but who's to question the leaders."

"Glad we'll be together on this mission, though."

* * *

It takes less than a month to gather equipment and men.Two of the young ones in our band look barely out of their teens.

* * *

I meet Major Sholto for the first time as the little convoy is beginning to move out.

"Major, Sargeant Watson at your command." He's tall, burly with a sour face. Almost ignoring my salute, he steps over to the trucks and barks orders. I think Chris is right. He's not a genial person.

* * *

Final destination reached we set up our camp, which consists of one large sleeping tent and a small one to act as a meeting room and mess hall. One big tent for all of us to live in. Canned food and MRE's, the staple traveling food for the military. Completely precooked, self-contained and require no refrigeration, and can also be eaten cold.

* * *

"Shit John, sand and more sand," looking around at the endless beige and drab undulating dunes. Mountains of bluish can be seen a long way off. A tuft of grass of some kind is seen, and the sky has no clouds.

"At least we know, Chris, that it's not a long stay. Before we know it we'll be back in Kabul."

* * *

Getting acquainted with the other men I discover the two young ones, Alan and Chuck. Remembering my beginnings I befriend them, keeping them in the loop.

* * *

It's been two days of extreme heat, the nights not much better. We've all taken to sleeping in our underwear only.

Major Sholto has his own curtained-off area in the same tent as we're in. He has an electric fan that runs all the time with his own small generator. 

* * *

His gruffness became apparent as soon as we undertook the drive into the desert. A constant complainer. Blunt, impatient, with the constant heat turning him into an unreasonable character. A barrel-chested, sluggish man, I guess in his forties, his hulk hovering, barking orders. Never cracking a smile.

* * *

The first day the Major has assigned the lookouts, both day and night. It's a tedious but needed task.

* * *

At least the nights, being cooler, are easier to take. And the sky! Every star glitters, more than I've ever seen before. With no city lights, it's like pinpricks of sparkles everywhere you look.

* * *

I borrow a book on the stars in the region and learn where to look for Orion and Sirius. Part of the region of the Milky Way casts shadows on the ground. And being out at night in this vast rolling, ever-changing landscape of sand my companions and the vehicles are almost totally invisible.

* * *

One of those hot nights, with Chris on night watch, I'm lying on my cot, a science-fiction novel in hand that Alan had lent me, the flashlight giving off the little light needed to read. We have a large generator, but the lights go off at ten hundred hours. I hear the generator startup, and planting the book on the bed, sit up, curious as to why.

Major Sholto appears out of his area, wearing only his shorts. Turning on the two overhead lights, we all stand at attention. Considering what a bastard he is I can't imagine this is for the good of something.

"Okay men, I know we're in this shit hole together, and other than shining boots there's nothing to do. Let's play a little game."

I see his swaggering sneer, his feet planted apart, hands on hips, and wonder what he's up to with this 'game.' 

"We're all sweltering in this damn heat. I see you've gone down to your skivvies. Let's cool off our pricks. Take those skivvies off. Want to see pricks and now. "

Gasps of astonishment each head turning to each other in total bewilderment, wondering if he's kidding or not.

"Sir, that's-"

"I didn't ask your opinion or advice, Watson," not even looking at me. 

"That's not a suggestion but an order. And since we're in the middle of nowhere I suggest you do as I say, or I will write you up for noncompliance for whatever I deem necessary."

Alan and Chuck down their pants very quickly, and the other two men, Ralph and Dino comply more slowly, almost ready to challenge.

Sholto, not even rotating his head around to give notice to me, "Watson?"

I obey, my fury held in check. Fists balled, I keep a close watch on the men, their reactions, trying to gauge for any problems before it happens.

Strolling to the end of the tent, reversing and stationing himself in the middle of the group he points to Alan.

"You, you look like a good candidate. Come suck my cock," as his pants come down.

The tent now erupts, the men objecting, some threatening the Major.

"Sir I strongly protest. Totally out of line and I'll-,"

Stabbing his finger at me, his eyes narrowed, crouching low.

"Report me? Watson, do you think any of these young cocks here would go into a courtroom and risk it all? Their careers, the scandal? Nah! "

Alan, inexperienced in how demanding a military man can be, although this is most unusual, is shaking visibly, steps out of his pants, on his knees, crawls to his senior.

"Sir, I request that I take his place. I'm older and quite frankly, know what to do," holding in my disgust, I know, I can't let this happen to Alan.

"Oh?" he sneers, "And what makes you so good?"

Reluctantly I reach for my mobile, opening it up to the pictures of Sherl, hoping that the images he sees will fuel his imagination enough. He fingers through them.

"Hey, look, we have a genuine faggot in our midst!"

To my horror, he passes around the mobile, and each sees the photo of Sherl. The last one, the most revealing one.

"Ah, the hero, the big man, eager to get your kicks also, hey? Like sucking?"

Alan stands up, tears and gratitude written on his face and in his eyes.

I advance, on my knees and bring the Major to a climax, even to swallowing his juices.

* * *

Picking his pants up he leaves to his own area.

* * *

The men, avoiding each other, ashamed to look, replace their clothing.

Alan, having recovered, advances to me, a handkerchief in hand. I vehemently spit out the taste and Chuck holds a glass of water.

Alan takes me in a big bear hug. The rest of the men follow, surrounding me, each with a clap on my shoulder, a shuffling of feet, not at all sure how much to do or say.

"Go to sleep, please," I whisper to them, aware that Sholto is no doubt listening.

* * *

That morning, as soon as we have breakfast I manage to get Chris outside alone to let him know why the men are so agitated.

"You're shitting me! He did that?" And are you-?"

"No, Chris. I'm not a homosexual."

"Why the picture of this man, in such poses then?" showing him the mobile shots of my strange obsession.

"That's a story for another time. But you bet I'm not going to let this go. When we get back-"

Chris puts his hand up in a signal. The Major is walking towards us.

"Gentlemen, I've gotten notice. We're leaving in a week. Nothing is going on here. Good to get out of this hell hole." And off he walks. I get the distinct impression he was trying to stop our discussion.

* * *

George is out tonight on watch. The Major enters our area, lights on, and I tense up. He's in his shorts, and I already see the bulge. Here we go again!

"Okay, gents, you know what I require of you."

Reluctantly, they strip down, each one afraid and angry.

Without waiting, I step in and on my knees.

"This is your bag then, taking cock in your mouth? Your curly-headed queer must love you."

I do what is needed, and when done, he spins around, not bothering with anyone else and enters his curtained area.

* * *

"Sir, we've all discussed this earlier," Alan whispers as they assemble around me, Chris's arm over my shoulders, which I shrug off, very uneasy with the possible implications of the gesture.

"Not now and not here," I murmur low," wait until breakfast. All sit together, and we can discuss this. Now, get in bed before he comes in."

* * *

That morning, after not getting anywhere's near a good night's sleep, we're having breakfast, the major not in our tent.

"We'll gladly back you up in a court," Alan states as the other men nod agreement.

"Guys, John is not gay, just a fetish of sorts with this man. I'm sure you understand," as Chris chuckles and the boys loosen up. But, I'm pissed. The joke has gone too far. And the more I protest the worse it will get. I have to let them think what they will.

* * *

"No more talk. When back at base we'll start proceedings. Are we all in agreement on this? It may not be easy," sitting down, the coffee passed to myself, and Chris offers me his uneaten plate of food to stand and get one for himself.

Alan hangs back as the other leave.

"Sir, I need to talk to you alone," an almost whimper out of him," I'm gay. I've been hiding it from everyone, including my family. But this is intolerable. If we can put that bastard in his place,-"

"Are you saying you'd come out and risk your career to put this shit head in his place? That's very decent of you but what good would all this do? I can't let you do it."

"Oh no, sir, you don't understand. I have to do this. I can't let him continue to harass any other men because I'm too afraid to stand up to my homosexual leaning." While he's going on I'm looking down at the ground wishing I knew what my 'leaning' is, was. 

"I have a favor to ask of you," he continues, not noticing my discomfort," my parents don't know. Would you stay with me while I Skype them and tell them? If this gets out, I don't want them to find out through any other source but me."

* * *

Laptop set up; Alan manages to get his mom online, dad is out to work. Of course the usual from mom, wanting to know if he's well, and why the call.

"Mom, I have something to tell you. I've been keeping it from you. Don't be angry or cry please."

"Alan, are you finally going to tell me you're gay?"

Alan sits back in his chair, stunned. It's a good thing he can't see me, the idiotic grin on my face. How upfront his mom is. Mine would never react that way! My parents would not talk to me at all.

"Son, I'm glad, and dad will also be. I don't care, but as you know, some people will sooner spit on you than shake your hand. So, why now? Something is going on, tell me."

Alan narrates the whole story to her and what we all intend to do.

"Okay, we'll deal with any backlash. I'm immensely proud of you."

"Mom, I want you to meet Sergeant John Watson. He's the one who took the brunt of all of this, and will be the mainstay in court." He beckons me over, reluctantly and his mom and I discuss the situation further.

* * *

After signing off, the two of us, pull back our chairs, enfold each other in a hug. We've formed a bond that will keep us as friends for a long, long time.


	5. Sherlock and Victor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets Victor, a club owner, gets rid of the drugs.

The events with John Watson forgotten I continue my work at Slinkys. It becomes boring, doing the same thing over and over. I vary the routine, slightly, sometimes wearing a tight white mesh shirt, sometimes pants with a belt.

* * *

Oh, infernal Hades! Barreling down the street to catch the tube after the show, the rain is pouring down in sheets, I bump into someone, losing my balance.

The individual holds me by my shoulders and keeps me from falling onto the wet pavement.

          "Hey there, slow down," continuing his hold on me, irksome, now I'm squirming to get out of the man's reach. 

          "Essential I catch the forthcoming train," displacing myself from his grip.

          "How about l drive you home?" Tilting my head, rain forgot for the moment, hands wiping at my eyes to clear the drips. Why is this stranger, and a good-looking chap at that, offering me a ride. Unless! Narrowing my eyes, brow furrowed, I'm enticed by his openness.

His brilliant green eyes, laughing eyes, the first detail I notice. Both of us forgetting this downpour, people rushing around us.

He's in his thirties, as tall as I am, his obvious tanning salon tan, light blonde hair, an entertainer I think.

          "How about a drink tomorrow night?" Those still laughing eyes, dragging a finger over my forehead, expelling my hair out of my eyes.

          "I don't drink," not sure why I'm still here, soaked now beyond caring. 

          "Dinner?" For some ungodly justification, I don't consider him a threat to me.

          "Besides, you look like you could enjoy a good meal. How about,-"

Casting around, he spots and points to a Chinese restaurant across the street from us.

          "Six at that place?"

Rain dribbling down our faces, hair, and our clothes it strikes me as a ludicrous situation. So ludicrous as to make it feasible.

* * *

Throwing my head back laughing, I agree.

          "Sherlock Holmes, my name."

          " Victor Trevor, good to run into you," a snicker from his mouth.

His arm goes out to shake my hand, but I'm off down the tube, knowing I'll have to wait for the next train.

* * *

My trousers soaked, even my shirt, the water driven down my coat collar, I can't wait to arrive at my dumpy flat to change clothes.

* * *

That very morning I phone Walter, my boss, to let him know that I won't be in until late tonight.

          "Sherl, you dumb druggie, we're closed tonight. Wifeys fiftieth birthday. See ya tomorrow night."

* * *

Dressing in a black shirt, black trousers, a light button-down sweater, my coat still soaked, I take off for the restaurant. I'm slightly buzzed, trying to keep the cocaine to a minimum today.

* * *

Questioning this man Victor's motive, but there's something exceptional about him, off-putting. I have to explore, tapping my fingers on my knee as the train moves to my stop.

Upon entering, Victor is standing at the front counter, moves to embrace me, or at least tries. Pressing my lips together, tilting my head in confusion, his nose crinkles, a slight laugh escapes him.

* * *

Once seated and our food ordered, we both appreciate the same cuisine. I pour the tea for both of us.

* * *

          "Entertainer. You must own a club, maybe two. Never married. Gay or Bi. Hated university and dropped out," chin up, concluding my assessment.

          "Wealthy family, aristocratic, Gay or bi, hated university and dropped out. Entertaining, in a dive, I think. On cocaine," enigmatic smile, eye contact straightforward, while taking a sip of his tea.

My eyes widen, staring, my mouth is open. His deductive abilities are on par with mine! An unexpected accomplishment, a common link between us.

          "Mister Holmes, if you cleaned up I would invite you to join my entourage. My club could always use a looker like you."

          " I'm not interested," leaning back in my seat, and as the soup is the beginnings of our meal, I ignore him.

* * *

Our dinner consists solely of the sounds of masticating, the utensils banging on the plates and our sips of tea.

* * *

          "Before we leave and never meet again, let me state my expectations. Although I'd enjoy a tumble in bed with you,-" let me finish-", as my hand waves him off." this is pure speculation, but I'd love to see an audition, how to appear to the audience. One of my clubs is a high-end gay establishment. Both men and women attend. A dance floor, food, drink, and entertainment."

          "I don't strip," annoyance tinting my voice.

          "My dear friend, in my establishments we don't show that kind of skin. It's sophisticated stripping. Ever heard of Gypsy Rose Lee?"

          "Famous woman stripper who was known for not revealing herself, in the1940s, in the states."

          "That's how I see you, aloof, not involved. And I might even suggest a duo. With our contrasting coloration, we'd wow them. Tell you what, here's my card for the Hornet Club." Pulling it out of his wallet as he pays cash for the meal, sits it on the table and places it and the payment on the table.

          "If it entices you in the least bit, you'll find me there tomorrow afternoon at two. But, no drugs. I insist my players be clean. Got that? Oh, one more thing. Wear black."

* * *

Saying that he stands, pats my shoulder and walks out the door.

* * *

The card stares at me from the tablecloth, the unusual individual who left here as rapidly as he entered my life now has me deliberating.

Picking the card up and into my trouser pocket, Victor is a question mark. A question mark I'd like to unravel.

* * *

In the morning, I have a decision to make. Cocaine or Hornet Club. Hornet Club, it is. Change of pace. the temptation for the needle disheartens me. I'm better than this.

* * *

Standing in the doorway of the Hornet Club, dressed in my black outfit from Slinkys, eyes searching for Victor, the bustle of the employees, the general poshness is not to my liking. 

* * *

The chiffon tablecloths, blush walls and ceiling along with the lighting glares at me. Greenery and flowers in shades of red and white bring in flashes of color. Across from me is a large stage, curtain now down. The bar is off to my left and that is where Victor is sitting, a young man leaning on his arm.

Taking my time to amble over, he catches sight of me, raises his hand to coax me over to him.

          "Glad you're here," those eyes now focused strongly on me. The youth hanging onto Victor disappears.

Looking me up and down, surveying, gauging, as if I was a side of beef.

          "Come with me. I think we've got something here. An idea." stepping close, pulling on my hand, which he holds in his, we wind amongst the tables.

          "I'd like to contrive a sort of dance between us. Not actually dancing, but flowing, hovering around, as if we desire to be closer, but afraid of it." 

Upon the stage, he begins with his arms extended, hands on my shoulders, maneuvering me, turning and twisting, snaking closer in towards me, touching slightly, then out again. Humming a soft tune, we skim around the stage, and each other, a dance without music.

A stagehand is instructed to swing out a large staircase, wide enough for six people to stand side by side, curving slightly, banisters on either side.

          "Stand there, while I get some props."

Back in a tick, he has two capes, one white, one black. Handing me the white one, he instructs me up the stairs.

          "Cape around you, move from stage right to left, slow, and at almost the bottom swirl your cape off and onto the banister." He mimics me, moving in the opposite direction. Standing on the stage proper we begin the choreography of our dance. It's ethereal, graceful, more slinking than dancing. I'm giving him pointers along with a member of his dance team.

In the end, we have a solid finish. I'm facing the audience, my curly dark pubic hair peeping out from unbuttoned trousers, my legs spread wide, thumb of my left hand tucked into the waistband of my trousers. Victor is kneeling at my side. His frame leaning against my right leg, right hand has slid up to the inside of my thigh, lips parted, face upturned in ecstasy, my right-hand runs through his hair. 

* * *

We break, sweat pouring down us, not noticing it's been over three hours since starting. At first, there's a silence in the place, then shouting and clapping. One of the men brings us each a bottle of water and towels to wipe off.

          "I think we've got a beginning of a routine. It's not a dance exactly, but a posturing around each other. I'll get some music to it. Soft, sensuous."

          " I'm impressed. But you're assuming-"

          "Yes, I am. Because you know it's darn good what we're attempting and you're eager to try it."

Wiping the running droplets from my hair," yes, I'll do it."

* * *

I'd lost all time, lost the desire for a fix. Something new, intoxicating, stimulating me. Victor, sexy, wise, a good partner, a good match.

          " I'll give notice at Slinkys"

Taking me by the hand, this seems to be Victors modus operandi with me, a hand holding, he leads me to his dressing room.

The door closes, we approach each other, our lips meeting hungrily.

          "No, can't do this," thrusting me off, frustrated, his breath strong in the moments' silence.

          "Fucking want you, but no good. I never mix-it's too dangerous."

          "I don't know what to say," feeling the same, my breath hard in my mouth, actually quite tired now.

          "Sherlock, I have this sense, this instinctual impression that we should keep the carnal, erotic tension between us. Let it show in our movements on the God damn stage." With a deep sigh, I have to concur.

          "This," taking my hand, twining our fingers together," is the, how to phrase it, only physical contact outside of the dance."

Squeezing tight, we are of the same mind, although dissatisfied, I'm imagining our sex would be scorching, searing our minds.

          "We probably need another few weeks to rehearse."

          "We haven't talked money or contract."

          "I have a standard one written up. Meet here at one and review it with me."

          "I'll give Walter two weeks notice."

          "Rehearsals will be at two. Is that good for you?"

          "I can commit to the pressure here with full concentration and then stand on the stage and glower at the customers at Slinkys. Not difficult at all," a snort of disdain.

At my bedsit, the first undertaking is throwing out my needles, my paraphernalia. This is a divergence that is challenging, worth being in full command of my talent.


	6. Court Martial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This court-martial scene is not accurate in any way as to how a court trial should be acted on. For my story, I tried to keep the men involved the way I felt it was best. So, for all of you in the military, or looking for specifics please forgive me. I've taken liberties.

Once back at base in Kabul I draft a complaint letter to my commanding officer Captain Carroll Westing. 

I give each of the men a chance to read and edit the missive and send it off.

Within a week I receive a letter asking me, as the men's Sergeant to appear before him.

* * *

The building which houses the military personnel is imposing. Harboring a great many offices other than the military. I've been here before but never in this capacity. I'm edgy, my mouth dry, I sip from the water fountain, entering the Captain's office. After the usual salute and introduction, I'm sat in a chair across from the Captain, his desk between us.

His secretary enters to be a witness.

          "There is a recording being made of your statement and any questions I have to ask. Do you understand?"

          "Yes, sir," my hat sitting on my lap, my hands trying not to fidget.

          "Please, Sergeant John Watson, state your name, rank and serial number for the record." I do, surprised at how steady my voice seems to my ears.

          "Give me all the details as to what happened between the men and Major James Sholto, the man you are filing the complaint against." Relating the events, my voice quiet and calm, he listens, occasionally asking questions.

          "Thank you, Sergeant Watson. This won't take long to process. I want a trial to begin as quickly as possible to ensure the men are all here to testify." Leaving his office I'm shaken. I've never been involved with something this big before.

* * *

I try to visit all the men involved at least once a week as assurance and to keep up their spirits.

Alan and I continue our friendship, and I've even spoken a few times to his parents via Skype.

And, understanding now that this could go public, I reach out to each of the men, instructing them to call their families. I'm there, on the phone or Skype with them, explaining the situation.

It soon becomes common knowledge in the military world. Before I know it, five other soldiers have stepped up to give their statements regarding Major Sholto and his sexual abuses. Three have actually been rapes. The bravery of those men to let their voices be heard stuns me.

* * *

The day dawns, hot and sunny of course. As I dress, the tightness in my stomach won't let go. Have I done the right thing?

* * *

Walking into the courtroom, the dismal scope of this is undeniably not what I would have expected while in service.  
Straight ahead of me is the panel of seven military men. The jury. The Judge Advocate in the middle.

Sitting on the left side with his lawyer, Major Darren Pickering, is Major James Sholto. Major Pickering is almost the spitting image of Sholto. In his fifties, stiff, giving off an appearance of no-nonsense.

Prosecution lawyer Major Robert Wright is on the right. I shake his hand, whispers to me,"It's going to be fine." I peg him for thirtyish, the beginnings of a paunch, but a man of today. Used to the ways of the world. All I can do is nod my head, move back to sit with all the men including the five others who were harassed. I didn't have a chance to speak to any of them. Alan and Chris and I sit next to one another and Chris does a thumbs up.

The Judge Advocate calls the session to order.

* * *

Major Robert Wright moves out from the table to step into the line of sight for all.

          "The defendant, Major James Sholto has been charged with the crime of sexual harassment.The evidence I present will prove to you that the defendant is guilty as charged."

During the day each of my men is brought forward to speak of the two evenings and what had taken place during our stay in the desert.

After Chris was called and testified, my name was called.

The military clerk holds a bible out to me, and while I'm standing at attention, gives the usual speech.

          "Raise your right hand. Do you promise that the testimony you shall give in the case before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?"

          "I do."

The clerk, "Please state your rank, first and last name."

         Sergeant John Hamish Watson."

Major Wright stands before the jury, as the prosecutor, and faces me.

* * *

          "Sargeant Watson, it is understood that you took on the assignment of fulfilling Major Sholto's commands, to fellatio him."

          "Yes, sir."

          "Tell me the events leading up to your engagement with the Major."

          "Major Sholto appeared to us with only his shorts on. We were all dressed in as little as possible because of the heat. He then ordered us to drop our shorts, to show our genitals."

          " That was a surprise in of itself, was it not?"

Snickers from the group.

          "Yes, sir."

          " Major Sholto called on one soldier, Second Lieutenant Alan Highland, to perform fellatio on Major Sholto, in front of all. Is that correct?"

          "Yes sir."

          "Explain, from the beginning what the circumstances were that led up to your stepping in."

          "I understood this was detrimental to the soldiers' well-being. I didn't want to see him ordered into an act that was not fundamental to military obligations. I also noted that Mr. Highland was acutely self-conscious and panic-stricken."

          "Did you speak up to Major Sholto?"

          " I did. He countered by advising us that he was the commanding officer and he was giving an order."

          "How many times did he request this act of fellatio?"

          "Sir, it was not a request. It was a command. And it was twice."

          "Did he show any regret, did he apologize?"

          "No sir."

          "Thank you, Sergeant Watson."

* * *

The defense attorney, Major Darren Pickering, a man in his fifties, showing great confidence in himself, steps over to me.

          "Sergeant Watson, why you of all people to commit fellatio?"

          "Sir, being the oldest one it seemed the only plausible thing to do."

          "Had you ever performed it before this?"

          "Out of order,"Major Wright calls out

          "Sustained," the judge answers.

          " Sergeant Watson, have you known any homosexuals?"

          "Questions are not relevant, sir." Major Wright says, annoyed.

          "Overruled. Continue your questioning, but I have the ability to stop this if I don't see the relevance of this line of questioning."

          "Are you homosexual, and did you enjoy, yes, encourage the Major to do this act?" jumping up, Major Wright shouts out, clearly angry, "Objection, sir. This has gone too far."

The men in the audience look about at each other, and me, staring into space, jaw clenched.

* * *

          "Quiet!" Banging the gavel on the table.

          "Sir, I have pictures to show that Sergeant Watson is homosexual and could have been influential in Major Sholto's exhibition."

          " Major Wright, do you object?"

          "Yes. I cannot see, short of extortion, how Sergeant Watson could pressure Major Sholto into such an act."

          " I have evidence to show the opposite."

          " Continue with your evidence, Major Pickering."

Taking out of his briefcase a batch of photos he shows them to the judge and then the jury. And one large one is rolled in on an easel. A gasp, from myself, and all the people in that room. It's the picture of Sherl, the last picture taken, with his genitals out. How did he get those pictures from my mobile?

          "Sergeant Watson, have you seen these pictures before?"

          "Yes, sir. They are on my mobile phone."

          "Actually, Sergeant Watson, "and this with some disdain in his voice, "these are taken from Major Sholto's mobile."

* * *

My eyes widen, I look directly at the man, who sits with a smirk on his face, chest puffed out.

          "Sergeant Watson, you visited the gay pub Slinkys in London the week before you were deployed am I right?"

          "Yes, sir."

          "And it's there that you and Major Sholto met for sexual encounters."

          "Objection."

          "I have proof that both men were at this pub called Slinkys at the same time, sir. The bouncer verified this. I have a sworn statement from him," and removes a paper from his case. My body is trembling. What in the hell is happening? I never met this Sholto before, much less at Slinkys.

Major Wright asks permission to stand before the judge, "May I have a recess to discuss this with my client? I know nothing of the statement or the pictures."

          "We'll call this until the day after tomorrow at o'nine hundred."

* * *

I'm frozen to the spot. Did this trial just do a reversal? Am I the one in trouble?  
The men surround me, all talking at once.

* * *

          "Gentlemen, can you leave me with Sergeant Watson, please?" Major Wright politely requests. As they depart from the room, Chris twists around and appears at my side, standing next to Major Wright.

          "I want to remind John of something if you don't mind Sir. I have a suspicion about how those pictures showed up on Major's phone."

          "Continue with your statement. I need all the information I can get to help Sergeant Watson."

          Do you remember when we were packing up to leave you couldn't find your mobile? When you did find it lying on the seat in the truck you were confused. You didn't remember having it anywhere near the convoy. Could he have seen it lying someplace, taken it, gotten into your mobile and taken the pictures out of your gallery?"

          "Shit! That's a good possibility. I don't have my mobile password protected."

Major Wright, listening to this exchange asks, "Is it possible he overheard you discussing sending in the complaint, took them off your phone to blackmail you?"

          Damn, that fucker, oh, excuse my language. But, what about the bouncer and the statement?"

Thinking about this, rubbing the nape of my neck, distressed beyond belief.

          "Major Wright, the first time at Slinkys I had my friend Mike with me, and after that, I was always alone. I met the bouncer once, and that was the evening those pictures were taken." 

          Let me make some calls to Slinkys and see what I can find out. Meantime, I suggest, Sergeant Watson, you don't discuss this with anyone else." Chris leads me out, my head whirling, can't think, can't speak.

* * *

          "Suggest you go to the infirmary and get something to calm your nerves." his hand on my back, soothing me.

* * *

Late the next afternoon I'm called to come to Major Robert Wright office.

          " I did some digging John, and here's what I've come up with. The man in your photos, Sherlock Holmes has a retentive memory. Especially of you. He remembers you sat with a man that first night. I sent a picture of Major Sholto over to him. He verified that was not the man you were with. After that you were always alone, sitting by yourself. You went backstage to speak to him and took these pictures in the alleyway next to Slinkys. Are we in agreement so far?" All I can do is shake my head, and wonder how this became so complicated.

          "The best news. The bouncer claims never to have been asked about the two of you together, and- never signed the statement. The signature is not his. Verified."

          "Are you telling me that Sholto was setting me up? Was going to blackmail me? And when it came to the trial he was going to take me down with him?" disbelieving, astonished!

          " Yes, I think he did overhear the conversation about the letter and decided to do something about it. When we go to the court tomorrow I can clear you of all of this. Sholto will go down for sexual harassment. But, we still have the matter of your sexuality to discuss. You know it's illegal to be in the service and be out as gay."

          "But I'm not."

          "John, those pictures say otherwise. You are hard pressed to convince anyone that you aren't," a half smile on him.

I throw up my hands in disgust. I can't convince anyone that I'm not gay.

          "Let me discuss this with the judge and see what we can do."

* * *

That night I managed to tell Chris what was going on and he relayed it to the others.

At the courtroom, my jitters worsen. I can't look at Sholto, my fists balled up, wanting to run over and beat the living fuck out of him.

          "I call Major James Sholto to the stand," Major Pickering turns to look at him.

          " Major Sholto, you claim that Sergeant John Watson was knowledgeable beforehand about the events that would take place on those two evenings. 

          "Yes, Sir. He claimed if I didn't follow him he would expose me. He planned it all. I had no choice."

          "That meant you were admitting you are homosexual. And so is the Sergeant."

          "Sir, since my enlistment no one knew. The 'don't tell, don't ask' policy was how I operated."

          "You both went to Slinkys, a known gay pub right before Sargeant Watson was deployed. How did you come to be there?"

          "I was on leave in London and met him at the pub, we sat together and after that went to meet the man in the photos. When I met John in Kabul it was a surprise. So we agreed to keep our meeting before as a secret."

          "Are you telling me that in all those times at the pub, drinking, you never knew that Sergeant Watson was also going to be in Kabul?" 

          "We knew it was Afghanistan but not Kabul." 

          "Thank you. No further questions." Major Wright approaches Major Sholto.

He has papers in his hand, shuffling them, not giving eye contact to Major Sholto.

          "Major Sholto, you claim you met the Sargeant at this pub one night and then continued to see him at the same pub on subsequent nights. Am I right?"

          "Yes, sir. We had drinks together and enjoyed the show."

          "Did you have sex with him?"

          "Objection."

          "Sustained. Major Pickering, that is not relevant to this case."

          "How did you get the photos of this man? Were you together taking them?"

          "Yes. We went outside and both of us snapped pictures of him. I left early that morning to join my troop in Kabul."

          "What's strange about these photos Major Sholto?" holding the sets of photos, one from my mobile and the other from the Majors.

          "I see nothing strange at all," as he thumbs through them, almost too quickly.

          "If you both were snapping pictures at the same time don't you think they would be somewhat different looking? Based on the fact that two people can't stand in the exact spot. You would have slightly different angles, shadows etcetera."

Wow! I had not thought about that! He's right!

          "Also, you claim to be sitting at a table with the Sergeant not only on the first night you visited Slinkys but all the other nights. Am I right?"

          " Yes," and that comes out quite hesitantly.

          " Judge. I have a sworn letter from a Sherlock Holmes, the man in the pictures, he has a photographic and retentive memory. He states in the letter that John Watson was there the first night with someone, but not Major Sholto. And, the rest of the nights, Sargeant Watson sat alone, even removing the other chair so no one sat with him." And he hands the letter to the Judge.

          "Now as to the bouncer, Major Sholto, can you tell me how you obtained this sworn affidavit?"

          "I, uh, called, got the manager on the phone, explained and he spoke to the bouncer and who faxed the signed letter back to me."

          "I also have a letter from the manager Walter who says he never got a call from Major Sholto, and also the letter from the bouncer saying this is not his signature. I have a copy of his signature along with his statement."

And this he also places on the judges' table.

          "I'm being framed!" Sholto stands up, screaming to everyone. Pandemonium breaks out, as the judge tries to quiet the courtroom. The courtroom is cleared out, except for me, Major Robert Wright and the Judge.

* * *

          Sergeant John Watson, I'd like to see you and Major Wright alone please." The Judge Advocate asks me to take a seat next to Major Wright.

          "This is a disturbing development. I now have to decide your fate also. I'm not getting into the whys of the pictures you have kept. What I'm trying to establish is to give you and the army the best option."

          "Sir, if I may speak I may have a solution."

          "Go ahead, Major Wright"

          "Sergeant Watson has almost a year left. Why not let him leave with an honorable discharge and be done with it?"

I'm sitting, my brain not functioning.

          "That would be a good solution. What do you say, Sargeant Watson?"

          "I'm not gay. I don't know why I kept those pictures, but it looks like I have no fucking way out of this damn situation! Excuse the cursing."

          "Okay, then process the papers Major Wright and let this affair be done."

Leaving the courtroom, drained, every ounce of me gone. I had hoped to get close to finishing my classes to become a doctor, but now my hopes have been dashed.

* * *

Major Sholto did accomplish one thing. He ruined my life.

* * *

I return to my room where all the men are waiting.

          "Whatever happened in there was disgraceful. The man should be taken out and shot," Chris says.

After letting them know my plight I turn to my bed, lying face down, "go away all of you. Leave me alone."

          "John, do you want me to sit with you awhile?"

Shaking my head no they all walk away and leave me.

* * *

I hear a stirring and a coughing next to me. Turning my head I see Alan standing there.

          "Sir, I need to have a word with you."

Can't ignore my duty, I sit up.

          What is it?"

          I'm forever indebted to you for all you've done for me. Keeping my secret, helping me come out to my parents and I want you to know, I'd like to keep in touch with you. Can you give me your phone number and we can text or email when you get back to London? Please, sir?"

I'm touched by his sincerity and almost adoration.

          "Yes Alan, I'd definitely want to hear from you." And I give him the information.

* * *

The trip back to London is uneventful. I have no idea what I'm going to do with myself now. I can't afford university. I don't even know what to do to earn money yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank my husband for his help in giving the characters their proper standings in the army. And for helping me with the general knowledge of the lawyers..  
> Other than that, I tried to capture a somewhat version of a trial, shortened of course, so my characters would wind up where I wanted them to be.


	7. London, John, and Alan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan's father helps John out.

I have no choice but to call Mike before leaving Afghanistan, asking him if he and Emma would be okay with me staying at their place for awhile.

          "What's going on? You started to tell me about this trial and then I hear nothing back from you. Of course, you can bunk here as long as needed."

          "Long, long story Mike. I know this is an awful lot to ask. But I'll keep out of your way-"

          "Don't be an ass! Let me know when you're coming in and we'll have the welcome wagon out for you."

I wouldn't let Mike or Emma meet me at the airport. 

* * *

          "Come in, John," knocking on their door, and the warm hugs, the love from both send good feelings through me.

          "Take your bag and put it in the bedroom and come have something to eat or go rest awhile."

"Don't need to rest. I managed to sleep well on the plane. Let me drop my gear off, hit the loo and I'll tell you all.

* * *

Back in the living room, a cup of tea in hand, the two sitting there expectantly, waiting.

After relating it all, including the beginning with Sherl, I know that both of them are speechless. After all, I'm still blown away by the events.

* * *

          "So you and he went to a gay pub? What in the world Mike! What made you even think of that?" Emma blinks, dumbfounded.

          "Before we married, of course. It was just to see what it was like. Come to think of it John, you never told me you went back, and that you have pictures of that guy? What got into you?" pausing, "Yeah, I remember that first night. You were mesmerized by him. I had to shake you out of that spell."

          "I don't know. I was taken with him. But, being straight-you know," my head tilted down, embarrassed to look directly at them.

Emma giggles, a hand covering her mouth, "Hey, we all experimented at one time or another. Hell, I remember the huge crush I had in university with a girl. We kissed and fumbled with each other, that was it."

          "Emma, you never told me!" Mike's nose crinkles, bends over to her, shoving her arm in a playful way. 

          "Some things don't need telling."

* * *

          "Plans for now John?"

          "Find a job first of all. Put this all behind me."

          "And those pictures? Do you still have them?"

          "No, no, that part of me is gone. Done. Finished," I lie through my teeth. Why do I keep them? I don't know. Haven't looked at them since the trial. Every time I think about erasing them I hesitate. John Watson, you're a jerk!

* * *

A few weeks turns into months staying with Mike and Emma.

* * *

I manage to get work at Barts Hospital as a medical assistant. Most of it is bookkeeping but occasionally I work with the doctors prepping the patients. Once they see my competency I spend more and more time with the doctors.

* * *

I help out at Mike's buying groceries and cooking. Emma takes great delight in teaching me to cook and bake. I thoroughly enjoy it.

* * *

I keep in touch with Chris and Alan via text or Skype. Both are still in Afghanistan and due home soon.

* * *

I have a message on my mobile one evening. After trying to figure out who it is I realize it's Alan's father. Worried that Alan's been hurt or worse, I immediately phoned him.

          "Mr. Highland, this is John Watson. Is Alan okay?"

          "Alan is fine. He's doing great. Can you come to my office tomorrow? It's in the building across from Barts. I'd like to talk to you."

          "Sure. I don't have to be at work until six."

          "Will one o'clock be good? I'll have sandwiches brought up."

          "You don't have to do that. But, I'll be there sharply at one."

Wonder what this is about. Alan's father runs one of the syndicate newspapers and a television station. He was a solid shoulder for Alan to lean on while the trial was on.

* * *

I have no suit to wear, so I dress in a plain dark green shirt and black trousers, borrowing a multi-color green tie from Mike.

* * *

Taking the elevator up to the floor designated as Mr. Highland's, it opens revealing double doors in front of me. Gold letters, 'Highland, Highland Ltd.' Looks like he has the whole floor to himself. His secretary, an older man, limping slightly, sends me into the main office.

* * *

Standing to extend his hand, Mr. Highland gives a very solid handshake," Hello, Mr. Watson, or can I call you John?"

          "John is fine, Mr.Highland."

          "Call me Joe. It's almost like we've known each other for ages."

          "Ah, Jeff put the sandwiches on the table here. And get us some tea, please. Sit here, John," he indicates one chair and puts other up next to the table.

          "Jeff has been with me since the beginning. He's a very special person to me. I usually don't ask these menial tasks of him, but it's a special occasion."

* * *

Glancing around, his office is smaller than what I would expect from a big-shot executive. Instead of dark wood on the walls, there's tan paneling. A desk, chair, two armchairs and a table make up the furniture for the rest of the space.

* * *

          "I'll get right to the point," in between bites of the turkey sandwich.

          "Alan and I are forever grateful to you for saving him from Sholto. No, don't wave it away. It was, to me, a heroic act. As you are aware Alan will be home soon. He wants to go to Queen Mary University to study cardiac care. You also want to go into the medical field. My proposal, John, is for the both of you to go to this school, take a flat near the university together. I will pay for all your expenses."

Stupified, my hand holding the sandwich, surprise must be written on my face because I know I feel a flush creeping up.

          "I can't do that sir, have you pay for my education."

          "Nonsense! Poppycock! I have the money and Alan is my only child. You've been treated unfairly in my mind by the army board, but that's done with."

Tilting back in his chair, his head looks up at the ceiling, he pauses.

          "You'll also be able to watch out for Alan. He is rather naive and having claimed to be homosexual, well, he might need someone looking out for him." He focuses his eyes on me, intent. 

          "I know you'll be a brilliant and upstanding doctor."

Eyes cast down on the floor, he again pauses.

          "Let me have the pleasure of seeing both my boys graduate," the emphasize on 'both my' has me flustered. I'm choked up. Tears form in my eyes.

* * *

We finish our sandwiches in silence and upon being done I lift off the chair, he follows and opens his arms to me. I've held in my emotions for so long, and to have this stranger, this wonderful man treat me like a son, I embrace him and trying hard not to, the tears fall from me.

* * *

Holding me like he is my father his embrace is warm and tender.

* * *

          "Let me have the pleasure of seeing both my boys graduate," I relate those exact words to Mike and Emma the next day at the dinner table.

          "Holy Crap, that's wonderful! What a great man! But then, I always knew John Watson that you were a great man also." 

* * *

Joe Highland and I are at the airport to greet Alan at Heathrow Airport. Alan stays at home until all the arrangements are met and we both have enrolled, taken the tests for the university.

* * *

Hugs and chatter all around we take a taxi to our new flat within walking distance of the university. 'Dad', as I call him, has had me furnish it, him paying the expenses.

* * *

Alan, his Dad and I walk around our new place, surveying the work we've put into it. It's in a new high-rise building and we're on the fifth floor. Walking into the sitting room with the walls painted a light beige, there's a large brown sofa with three armchairs surrounding an electric fireplace. We've been furnished with a large screen telly, video games, and a box to play DVDs, supplied as a present from dad.

* * *

The kitchen is long and narrow, with all new appliances and there's a stacked washer and dryer.

Alan has picked the bone-colored bedroom and that means I have the sky blue pad to crash in. Each has a nice size desk and chair, a laptop, and bookshelves.

* * *

          "I'll pick you up tomorrow morning and we'll go for clothes and food to get you started. See you guys at nine sharp," as dad leaves.

* * *

A whirl of activity goes on in the ensuing days what with shopping and signing up for classes, but we soon settle in, finding a routine that's workable.

* * *

We both are so busy with classes and studying that our social life is limited. Alan joins a chess club, and I find that writing is a passion I enjoy. I wind up at the school's weekly paper.  
But our dating lives are nil.

* * *

One evening I get a text from Chris. We've been mostly sending emails at least once a month since I left the army. He's coming to London and wants to visit us. He figures a week at the most.

          _We have the perfect couch for that. Will meet you at the airport._ The doorbell rings a few hours later. I ask who it is.

          "Open up you stupid fuck. It's me!"

He's downstairs. What a surprise!

          " I'm heading to Edinburgh and my family to work with my father. He's not been well."

His family owns three shoe stores in Edinburgh. We've always joked about now knowing the shoemaker's children and that they do have shoes.

A few minutes later Alan appears and it's old home week, staying up late discussing our old buddies and what they're up to now.

* * *

Alan and I have classes each day so Chris finds things to do until dinner. He even makes some meals for us.

Our last night we have a few drinks and get into the trial.

          "Are you still holding onto those pictures of that guy Sherl?"

Shamefaced I incline my head. Every time it's brought up I feel a twinge, a something in my belly-still.

          "After all this time why not try to find him? After all, he played a major part in your life."

I open my mouth to speak and Chris chimes in knowing my response, and says it first, " I'm not gay."

          "Can't understand you and your continued fascination with those pictures."

          "You had to be there."

          "But it's a good couple of years now. The man could be dead of an overdose, or alive in some dump someplace. Aren't you curious to know?"

Yes, over the years I've thought about him, about where and what, but my fear of the intensity of the time, the deep emotional explosions that kept happening with him override all else.

* * *

It's my graduation. Mom, my sister, Alan's Dad, whose become my real dad in every sense of the word and Alan are with me. Dad Highland has paid for Mom and my sister Harry to come and stay at a hotel for the three-day celebration.

* * *

Dad and my Mom have also constantly been writing or texting one another and I suspect a romance growing there. I'm glad. Mom needs someone with her and I want to see her happy. Harry is not so glad about this turn of events. Harry still wants our real Dad back, even though no one knows where he's been these last years.

* * *

Everyone has left and we return to our flat.

Alan plunks himself down into his favorite armchair,"So how about a drink or two to celebrate your new life as a doctor?"

I agree and pour us a good brand of whiskey that 'dad' had given us.

I'm beginning to get the effects, being woozy, and stand to get some water to drink.

Alan grabs me thinking I'm going to fall, his embrace tight, he lightly moves his hand through my hair, his lips parted, eyes wide and kisses me. Just a light touch. Moving his head back, his eyes on my lips he kisses me again. This time his tongue darts out, licking warily around my bottom lip.

Carefully, not wanting to alarm him, look down and away and push him off me.

Not moving, still in the same position we both avoid our eyes. How things were and how things are have drastically changed.

          "Damn, I can't say I'm sorry because I wanted that for a long time. But now what?"

          "How about we say goodnight, consider the consequences and hash this over tomorrow at dinner."

          "Good idea. So sorry John. I'll say goodnight and see you tomorrow."

* * *

All day my mind dwells on that kiss. For three reasons. One, it's Alan and I know he's gay. Two, it's Alan and would he want more. Three, it brings back the memory of a kiss long time ago.

I haven't had a man kiss me since then. And here it is again. What to do.

* * *

Alan cautiously speaks first, his pacing back and forth, making me even more upset than I am.

          "There's no denying that I'd taken a fancy to you back in Kabul. But, aware you weren't interested I kept it low. Last night, oh, I don't know, I couldn't, no didn't want to repress it any longer. More importantly, I want you as my dear friend, still and yet. I'm willing to continue as we were if you can."

The whole speech was spoken while walking the floor, not once finding my eyes, as I sit in the chair, legs crossed, hands loosely laid on my knees.

          " You did a magnificent job of hiding your feelings, Alan. So," taking a slow breath, trying to employ caution and yet guide us both to a place where we'll both feel at ease. 

          "My advice? Let's give it up to the excitement of the few days before and the drink and pick up the pieces. Continue on. How does that sound?"

I stand tall, see him blinking at tears, take up his hand, holding it with both of mine.

          "Thanks," in a small whisper.

          "Now you git, we still have some chicken leftover and there are veggies that need cooking. Let's get a move on."

* * *

The days following there's a tension, like walking on eggshells. Alan is true to his word and our friendship continues without a hitch.


	8. John visits an old friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprises all around.

I've almost saved enough money to open my own clinic. This time I won't take anything from 'dad'.

Alan's graduation is coming up and I expect to see everyone there.

* * *

Chris comes to London for the ceremony and bunks with us.

As usual Alan's dad, my 'dad' is open and easy to get along with. We invite him for drinks at our flat that evening and he joyfully accepts.

Drinks poured, snacks on the table, I drop into my usual chair while Chris and dad take the sofa. Alan is up and pacing. Something is bothering him.

          "Dad, John," running his hand through his hair, head bent down, "I'd like to throw out an idea. Don't jump on it right away. Give it time. I know that John has had his dream focused on opening a clinic. Well, if it's okay, I'd like to partner with him."

Pandemonium breaks out, us all talking at once. I'm amazed, thrilled. Alan is so compassionate and generous with people.

          "Okay, everyone, calm down. Mr. Highland, what say you?" this is Chris's voice having to shout to be heard over us. All sit back down and quiet ensues, as it sinks in.

Fingers steepled in thought, "I would love it, would gladly help out in any way I can," I hear the warmth, pride in his voice, also teary.  
Revelling in the moment my eyes twinkling at Alan, he flushes.

          "Oh, I never asked you if this is what you would want, John. I assumed-"

          "Of course you nitwit. Why wouldn't I want a partnership with you and the best family a man could have."

          "Ahem. Speaking of family. John, your mom sends regards."

Crinkling my eyes and nose at dad I throw my head back laughing.

          "Go ahead, dad. I know. Announce it."

          "I guess the only one who doesn't know is Chris. John's mom and I are getting married sometime soon."

Congratulations all around. All of us are rejoicing in all this good news.

          "Now it's time for my boys, you included Chris, to find your own happiness."

          "Now that we're on that subject. I'm going to give a ring to Alicia in August. It's her birthday and we've known each other two years now," this coming from Chris's mouth, the biggest damn grin on him.

* * *

After everyone departs, Alan and I sit comfortably, each of us contemplating our future.

* * *

Time has rushed past me. I'm now thirty years old. I can see a slight thinning of my hair, blonde with some silver strands in it. I remember my father, at an early age, greying quickly. Looks like I'll be following him.

          "An eventful visit, don't you think?"

          "Partner," leaning back, hands clasped behind my head, satisfaction written on both our faces.

* * *

Hard work, opening up the clinic, advertising, buying the equipment, hiring staff, learning to work as a team. It all takes time and energy. Alan and I are exhausted half the time, but the reward is great. We almost immediately have a book load of clients.

* * *

          "John?" on one of those times we're at home, nothing much to do, his eyes wandering all over, but not on me. I know something is up, something I might not like.

          "John, would you indulge me? I-"

          "Come on Alan, you know I'll be by your side. What is it you want?"

          "There's a club I want to go to. It's-," and he's biting his lip, a sure sign of anxiety," its a gay men's club. A swanky one. I want to visit it but not alone."

My arms crossed over my chest, my brow furrowed, I wonder what brings this on.

* * *

          "I'd like to meet other like-minded men but, to go myself, not happening. So, for the first time will you go with me?"

          "But that would look like I'm your partner."

          "Just to get in the door, and, oh, never mind," peevish with himself.

          "No, no, I'll go with you," giving him a hug,"tell me when."

* * *

Taking a taxi, Alan giving the address, the driver raises his eyebrows, a knowing leer on him, I ignore it.

A stand-alone building, the marquee giving nothing away other than the name, lit brightly-The New Age.

Alan has made reservations a week ago and giving his name we are shown to a table in the center near a large stage, the blue curtain is drawn.

Looking around I see many couples, men, some women.

It's swanky all right. With a blue motif, the whiff of food and perfumes pervades the room. The flowers on the tables, no idea of the names are a variety of blues. A slick dance floor in the middle rounds out the atmosphere.  
Our menus are handed to us by an attractive grey-haired man in a dark blue suit and white vest and something not seen in any establishments today, white gloves.

          "Hell, Alan, this place is fantastic! I'm used to the idea that gay clubs are dark and dingy. This is-," pausing, lack of words.

          "The owner has two other clubs around. He's got quite a reputation. His stable of dancers and singers is well known in the community."

* * *

Ordering our meal and wine, I swivel my head to see more.

Everyone is dressed elegantly, the men in suits and the few women in dresses.

Meeting these people on the street one would never suspect them of being homosexual. They look, oh John, were you thinking, 'normal'? What is normal now?

Dinner is, for me a salad, roasted chicken with green beans. For Alan its a salad, steak and an assortment of veggies. We decide on coffee but no dessert.

* * *

An announcer steps in front of the curtain to give a welcoming speech.

          "A round of applause for our first entertainer. Philip Rogers."

A man strides onto the stage, looking to be in his forties, a slight paunch to his belly, the curtain parts slightly to reveal a piano, and he sings popular songs in a tenor voice.

* * *

I don't understand what this has got to do with Alan meeting up with a someone, we're not mingling with others, although there is a bar in a smaller area off to the side, he hasn't suggested going there.

But it's a pleasant way to spend an evening so I don't ask questions. This is Alan's night so I let it be. But I do take note of how Alan is so fidgety. I place my hand on his hand, nodding my approval, over him and this evening.

* * *

After the singer finishes, and I admit he is darn good, the announcer is back onstage.

* * *

          "Folks, I know you're waiting for our main feature. Afterwards, we'll have the Warren Brandter band for your dancing pleasure. Desserts will be served the rest of the evening." With a fanfare from the band hidden offstage, he calls out," And now-------Victor and Sherl!"

Jumping up, overturning the chair," you fucker, son of a bitch. You did this on purpose. You knew-" moving away from the table. Hearing the group at the next table shushing us.

          "Sit down." forcefully grabbing my arm, holding on, and straightening the chair,"sit and watch. Yes, I knew they were playing here. I saw an ad in one of the gay magazines. It's time you came to terms with him."

Onto the stage saunters a tall, blonde, almost white-haired magnificent specimen of a man.

I'm so shitting angry right now, shivering, fists balled in my lap, teeth clenched.

* * *

Balletic in his movements, dressed in ballet shoes, tight shiny white pants, a long-wide sleeved billowing white shirt, open to the waistband of the pants. He glides effortlessly in tune to soft live music coming from the rear of the stage.

And--- he appears. A huge gasp from somewhere, until I realize it's from me. Heart racing, mind blown. I know Alan is observing me out of the corner of his eyes, ready to attack should I try to leave. One hand on the table next to me, as if to restrain me.

'Sherlock,' I hear the word leave my mouth in a breathless huff. My hands between my knees, holding them tight, trying to calm my body, shivering, heart going so fast, so out of tune.

He's clothed exactly the same as Victor but all black. As he flows across the stage, I can tell he's matured in his body and dancing skills. It's not dancing, but a rhythmic movement in every part of his slim frame.

As the two shift on the stage, around each other, closer with each motion, I'm stunned with the sweep of each step.

Sherlock is dark, Victor is light, Sherlock is grim, Victor is joyful. The playfulness, the intensity all works in the dance. Divesting shirt, then trousers to reveal same color thongs. It's erotic but not dirty, not lascivious.

I'm caught up in the moment, afraid, but at the same time, every molecule in me is fiercely engaged in his features. My longing shows in my trousers.

Finishing with a flurry, sweat soaking their skins, bowing to the gathering I again lurch from the table.

          "No, don't you dare try to leave! John Hamish Watson, whatever the pull this guy has on you let's get it out in the open, once and for all."

          "You don't fucking understand," my voice a growl.

          "You know what? I fucking think I do. And if you lower your voice we can talk this over."

He gently puts his hand over mine, but I pull away. Again his hand reaches out, over mine, petting it.

          "Look at me please," he begs. I can't resist any plea coming from Alan.

          "Has it ever occurred to you that you are suppressing something so wonderful? Love?"

          "Stop. That's not true."

          "Don't start with the not gay bit. Maybe, just maybe, you are bisexual. So what John! I'm pleading with you. So what?"

          "I need the bathroom," nearly in tears, trying to hide it.

In the bathroom, Alan treading behind me, I head for a stall. My tears flow, silently.

          "John, come out. Let's get a taxi and go home. We can continue this there."

Flushing the toilet, I avert my head from him.

* * *

A stillness in the taxi, discomfort until in the flat.

          "I'm going to make us tea. Why not get into PJs."

Coming back into the sitting room, my comfy shirt and pants on I take the tea Alan offers. God, my hands still shake!

          "Now, I know that something happened that night years ago. Otherwise, why carry those pictures around. If I guess right, you've never told anyone the accounting of it. Go ahead, start now."

Sipping the tea, gaze dipped to the floor, nothing comes out.

          "We can be here as long as you want. Whatever you say I won't pass sentence on you. Tell it as it happened."

Looking up at Alan, my eyes narrowed to slits, his eyes intent and unwavering, my voice tremulous, I relive the tale of Sherlock from years ago.

* * *

The reveal told I sink back into the chair, exhaustion in my every move, my eyes hardly able to stay open. Alan brings more tea.

          " Go to bed now. If you want me during the night call." His soft-spoken words soothing.

Helping me up, and holding onto my arm as we move,"We'll talk more tomorrow. Good night John."

I don't think, I don't cry, I don't anything. Sleep overtakes me.

* * *

Dodging, again, the issue, I go into the clinic, and the ensuing days I walk as if in a daydream. Alan says nothing. I know he's waiting.

          "For shit's sake John, say something, do something!"


	9. The Reveal

Sunlight streams through my window. Jumping up, checking my clock, noticing it's well past time I should have been up for my rounds at the clinic. A note sits on my nightstand. It's Alan's handwriting. 'I'm taking your rounds this morning. Will be home by eight. Relax.'

I wander aimlessly through the rooms during the day, absorbed and pensive. Picking up objects, staring at them, turning them absentmindedly in my hand, not dressing or showering. lost in my distracted way. Waiting for Alan to come home.

          "Don't talk to me until you get the schmutz off from you,"sniffing the air when he enters the flat. Obviously knowing I haven't showered at all.

          "Schmutz?" tightening my lips, my brows going up at the strange word.

          "A Jewish word meaning dirt. Learned it from one of your patients. You stink. Shower and then we'll eat."

It does make me feel more, alive I guess you would say, to have shaved and showered.

* * *

          "Now that you've eaten your fill. Time for Uncle Alan to sit your ass down and have a heart to heart. And don't give me that sourpuss look, and don't growl at me. You're going to listen to me."

With both of us seated comfortably in our seats a blanket over my knees, a sweater on Alan, tea at our table, I cross my arms, mouth set in a line.

          "Let's review this whole thing. You see this guy at a cheap strip joint, and without telling your best friend Mike, you head back there numerous times."

          "Why would I inform Mike of every move I make?"

          "Oh John, you didn't tell him because you were ashamed."

          "Do we have to go into this?"

          " Yes. To continue. You became cock-whipped, you know, that's like pussy-whipped. Lapping at his feet."

          "Now that's enough!" throwing the blanket to the floor, bouncing up. Before I can leave the room, Alan jumps up, shoving me down.

          " If I have to tie you to this chair I will. You're going to hear what I have to say," walks back to his seat.

          "You take pictures of him, even one with his prick showing and keep it on your mobile for 'year's," emphasizing the word years. 

          "You even defend my honor at camp by refusing to let me do Sholto's bidding and you suck his dick, not once but twice."

Slamming his hand on the arm of his chair, as I roll my eyes in annoyance.

          "Damn you! Listen to me!"

          " You get tied up in a court case because of 'gay'. 

          "You haven't dated anyone, man or woman since I don't know how long."

          " Your friend and your partner, get that part of this whole scenario? Now happens upon an article about Victor and Sherl, in the gay magazine. Has to be the same person. How many people are named Sherl. And I thought to myself, Alan, this is good. John will see him and finally bring this to a conclusion."

          " So when you do see him again, you freeze up. And get all pissy with me. You're not homophobic, you're not gay, your not heterosexual."

Taking a breath," Even when I tried to kiss you awhile back, me of all people, you couldn't enjoy it for what it was. I wasn't intending to shag you, you know. It's okay John to access both sides of your psyche."

* * *

Resting his chin in his hand, pensively eyeing me.

          "Ah, John, why must you make it so hard for yourself. What's the point in all this? You have an obsession. It's a male member of the human race. If it was a woman you'd pursue her to the ends of the earth, right?"

Not deigning to answer, not moving at all.

Stretching forward with his body towards me, intention tightly written on him.

          " Tomorrow night we're going back. You're going to meet this man, talk to him. Find out more about who and what he is. He's obviously come up in the world. I want you to confront this addiction head on."

With that said Alan stands to place his hands on the back of my chair holding me in, surprising me with his lips descending on mine, biting my lower lip, his tongue pushing, parting my pressed together lips, his tongue licking in my mouth. Just as quickly he pushes off, leaving me to ponder.

* * *


	10. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan and John go to Top Hat. John meets Sherlock again.

At the Top Hat the following night, Alan has secured a table down front.

          "Give me your phone and have the first picture of Sherlock on it, no questions asked please."

He hands my phone to the maitre de and whispers to him.

* * *

This time I pay closer attention to Sherlock and Victor. Are they lovers or is it set up for the dance to look that way.

Hard to tell.

* * *

Jealousy boils inside me. I know that's stupid. It's been almost ten years since our meeting.

* * *

After the dance, Alan stands, beckons me to and we follow a waiter to the back. To Sherlock's dressing room I'm supposing.

Hanging back, Alan grips my elbow tightly, nearly pushing me into the open door.

* * *

And there he is--again. This time the dressing room is expansive, decorated in the black and white theme. A dressing table is set out with simple cosmetics and powders. One clothes rack holds his street clothes. All this I see in my peripheral vision.

I only have eyes for this one man. Still dressed in his costume, he holds my mobile in his right hand, staring at it, and then at me. Not fully facing me, sitting sideways in his chair.

          "John. Your name is John. We met right before you were deployed overseas. Wasn't it in Afghanistan? And now- you're a doctor. Why all these years is my picture still adorning your mobile. Even after you've acquired new ones. You transferred these pictures over. Why?"

Alan shoves me away from the door, opens it part way, enough to get his body out of the room.

Swiveling around the dancer stands, and it seems like ages that we stare at each other.

* * *

          "Victor and I are not bedmates. Business partners and dancers."

I find my voice, "Alan and I are not bedmates. Partners in a clinic."

          "John. Before we stray further into this puzzle which I'm at a loss to ascertain, would a spot of tea and some dessert be consistent with the hour, late as it is, and find a mutual conclusion to this mystery?"

          " Let me tell Alan." My voice seems to come out as a squeak. I leave to find Alan leaning against the wall outside the door and explain. 

          "I'll make my way home. I won't wait up for you," blinking, no winking.

I snort, terrified at the meaning of that wink.

* * *

          "My car is outside. I know a perfect late night teahouse."

Moving so rapidly as to have me falling behind him, we find the car and step in. Not a word is said until we're seated at a table in a dark, candle-lit tea parlor big enough for six tables.  
Tea poured and desserts set, we're still soundless.

          "You are an enigma to me. I cannot interpret this, or you," taking my phone out of his coat pocket and throwing it, almost carelessly on the table.

* * *

How do I disclose those intimate details of how I feel about this person who entered my life years ago and is now sitting next to me? I try, my mouth dry, to articulate something, anything, but nothing appropriate comes out.

* * *

Sighing deeply, leaning back in the chair, almost to the point of tipping it over, placing his fingers steeple-like under his chin, he talks.

          "You had a schoolboy crush on me then. But you were not ready to follow through. Why? Met under undesirable conditions based on your childish notions of societal behavior? Your reluctance to admit a sexual response other than the standard convention for a male?"

Turning the mobile over and over in his hand, contemplating.

          "Then why carry these, no, the one particular damning one with you?"

He stumbles in his speech, eyes boring into me.

          "And, I sense a terrible experience based on the presentation of said picture, but, that's for another time."

All the while he's prattling I become more and more amazed at the timbre of his voice. Deep, baritone, vibrating into my belly, my total insides.

          "Your partner, obviously homosexual, has tried to engage you, but you refuse. Have I become the ideal, the consummate partner in your mind?"

          "No, I'm not gay," I say strongly.

          "Ah, you impart strength to that saying. Could be you've mouthed it so often it's become your mantra?"

Sitting straight up, anchoring his attention on me with those dark eyes, shadowed in the dim light, "John, do you want to shed your virginity with me, Sherlock Holmes?"

I had a chocolate chip cookie poised to my mouth, stuttered in entering it at those words.

          " I'm not a virgin."

          "Semantics. I meant your virginity concerning a certain male."

Question asked. Straightforward. Okay! now what?

          "Before a direct answer to that, let's make this simple for you. Would you consider an evening of dining and dancing with me? And then?-"

          "Your deductions are fantastic! Mindblowing in fact! Yes, I'd like dinner and dancing. Although my dancing is weak compared to yours. but the after part-I'm-"

For which he stops me with an index finger to my mouth, "Start with the basic elements and evolve to the major issue."

His speech, so uncommon, so elite. What a strange person!

Pushing his chair aside he quickly throws a few bills on the table and without a look at me, heads to the door, me rushing to keep up.

* * *

Calling a taxi he shoves me in, "I'll text you."

It's no surprise to me to find Alan sitting in front of the telly waiting for me.

          "Okay nosey, what do you want to know?"

A small quirky smile lights up his face.

          "Everything."

          "We chatted. His ability to see things, to figure out-. I don't know. But we are going dancing, whenever."

          "And? How do you feel about this?"

Ready to head to the bathroom and then bed, I stop to try to give an honest answer to him.

          "Not at all sure. He did wonder if I wanted to shag him. Don't look like that, Alan, I'm not going to." Before I move out of his line of sight, I hear a harumph from him.

* * *

          _Dinner and dancing Wednesday night. My car will pick you up at seven. SH_

          _Can't make it. Can't change my work schedule. What about Thursday?_

          _Can't change my schedule. I'm next free the Tuesday after SH_

          _That works_

Dinner-a swanky dining room in a hotel-Italian. Sherlock orders for both, not asking me at all.

          "Do you want wine? I don't partake."

          "I'll stick to water then."

          "Dr. John, I'm not comprehending your reasoning in continuing to consort with me. Elucidate please."

          "I'm not certain myself. But, I'll throw this back at you. Why are you continuing to consort with me?"

A smug smile crosses his face, he takes up his glass and raises it slightly.

          "Ah, you continue to amaze. You're an anomaly, a curiosity. A puzzle hard to read. I love solving puzzles."

          "Sherlock Holmes, tell me how you came from a strip joint in druggie town to this," sweeping my hand, taking in his fortunate turn to the upper side of town. All during the meal he regals me with his story. Occasionally from my mouth, a 'wow', 'amazing', to his tale.

* * *

From the hotel to the dance hall is a short drive.

          "Hello, Mr. Holmes, an honor to have you tonight. Let me show you to a table."

          "Dessert would be fine, and tea."

          "Is this one of your establishments?"

          "No. I only own the Top Hat with Victor. But this is his also."

Looking around I notice mainly same-sex couples.

          "Yes, Dr. John, it's a gay establishment. Much easier and more comfortable to dance in this atmosphere. Speaking of, would you-?"

He's up, his hand on my elbow lifting me out of my chair before I can say anything.

Onto the dance floor, and I feel awkward. Never danced with a man before.

          "Don't fret. I'll lead."

* * *

Within a few steps, I can appreciate what it means to have an accomplished dancer lead. Also, it's good the music is slow and a live band. Stopping after the music ends they being a tango.

I decline and we take our seats, sipping tea and eating the cookies brought to the table.

I watch the couples, engrossed in the openness they have. There's no shame, just an enjoyment of each other.

Sherlock is studying me purposely. Eyes locked on me, not the dancers.

There's a break in the music, the announcer calls out.

          "We have someone special in our midst tonight. Let's give a round of applause to Sherl of Sherl and Victor." 

A spotlight highlights our table, Sherlock doesn't stand but bobs his head in acknowledgment.

During the band's break, we have no time to ourselves. People flock to our table to greet and compliment Sherlock, ask for his autograph.

          "Will this be a new partner, Sherl?" one man pipes up.

Sherlock ignores the man's question, but I grasp at the fact that people assume, being with Sherlock, I'm gay. In this world, I'm accepted as such.

* * *

The music starts up. Sherlock inclines his head, I stand and we begin to dance, this time though, he pulls me in tight against his body. Uneasy with the closeness, I try to inch away.

          "Don't be a fool. Give in to it. Loosen up. Savor the closeness."

Forcefully pressing a leg in between mine, his firmness felt against my body, I moan.

          "Hmm, good, isn't it? whispering in my ear, the air blowing only serving to match his hardness.

          "I can't-"

          "Can't what? Can't love, can't feel sexual, can't give in," as he bites on my ear, sending me into shivers.

          "Sherlock, Sherlock, what do you want?"

Stopping, he moves his mouth to my lips, and with great care touches me. Not quite a kiss. His eyes bore into mine. Never saw them up close. Bordering on grey, greenish. Their intensity heavy with meaning. With a desire.

I become weak, all focus is locked onto his mouth. Catching his long curly hair in my hand I pull him down to my lips and kiss him with force. My tongue, finding it out, pushes open his lips, forcing myself to taste his tongue, his gums, the tea he drank and his own particular sweetness.

          "Sweet Jesus, you're hot!" I pronounce.

          "Ah, so you do want me?" pulling slightly away to look into my eyes.

          "Fucking yes," the words are thrown out of me.

          "Do you think I fall into a relationship with anyone?"

          " Are you mocking me now?"

          "No. I'm taking this very seriously. Come, sit back down with me."

* * *

At the table, Sherlock moves his chair closer to me in order to talk over the music.

Anchoring his attention on me, those eyes drilling, forcing me to confront him.

* * *

          "I would want to capture your maiden-head. It is a pleasure rarely gotten," a slight arch to his eyebrows.

          "But, at some future time. My inclination is to be deliberate, taking it in measured steps. A waltz, come, let me teach you,"the band sounding the familiar strains.

Into his arms, I flow, now fully aware of his body, his scent, his everything.

* * *

Every evening I can I'm at the Top Hat watching Sherlock perform. Sometimes going backstage to spend time, but most often going home because he's too tired, too worn out from the nights work-out.

* * *

When we can swing some free time together we go to a museum or take in the city with long walks. But, Sherlock, true to his word, refuses to allow us more than lip touching or close dancing.

* * *

By now, Alan is getting a great kick out of all this.

          "Can't touch until he says so, huh? But not afraid of your manly reputation, huh? What a turn around."

* * *

I've walked into our flat, the smell of baking hitting me full force. Alan does not bake. The kitchen is occupied by Alan and an unknown older man.

          "John, meet Armond. He owns two bakeries and is teaching me. Smells good, doesn't it?"

Taking a deep breath in, I get the odor of cinnamon.

* * *

Seeing the coy, dreamy stares they present to each other, this is more than a baking demonstration. Alan has found a somebody.

          "I'll head to my room."

As I turn away, Alan's hand rests on my shoulder, stopping me.

          "Please stay. We're almost done and we're going to watch a movie, have tea and these great scones. Please?"

I can't say no. It's unmistakable that there's a relationship there. Alan and Armond are sat on the sofa, hands clasped.

I stay for the movie and then give my good nights.

* * *


	11. John and Alan split

Sherlock is being a frustrating git. The more I angle for him the more he slips away. His reasoning?

          "It will taste sweeter when we embark on our journey."

          "You sound like we're taking a trip. All we're going to do is fuck."

          "No. This is more than fucking, as you so lewdly put it. It's an exploration, a pilgrimage to discover a new world. It takes strength, a will to find the top of the mountain, time to learn, observe. Every venture we take together brings us closer to the top of that mountain."

          "And then can we fuck?" a bit of laughter at his distinctive way of speaking.

* * *

The weeks have flown by and I see less and less of Alan at the flat. I guess he's sleeping at Armond's place. There's really have no private time to go into details at the clinic.

One afternoon, both of us having the same time off we take a taxi home together.

          "When we get home, let's talk. I've got things to discuss with you, John."

          "I figure as much. I've been waiting to hear more about Armond."

* * *

A late lunch is made of sausages on bread, with pickles, and a cup of tea.  
Sitting at the kitchen table, the dwelling still smelling of the cupcakes that the couple had made two nights ago, Alan, hesitating, eyes radiant, chest out.

          "As you've noticed, Armond and I are now a twosome. As a matter of fact, we're hoping to marry next year. I know he's much older than me, thirteen years to be exact, but it doesn't matter. This is his second time around.

          "How did you meet?" my interest aroused. I'm surprised he's even had time to get to know someone, we've both had busy schedules at the clinic.

          "Simple. I walked into his bakery one evening. We began talking, he invited me to tea the next day. And it went from there."

          "I still want our partnership to continue. And our friendship. But- I want to move in with Armond. He owns a house outside of London, in the country. Of course, there's an extra bedroom if you want to drop by for a day or so. He has horses and one of the biggest vegetable gardens I've ever seen."

          "I love this man so much."

* * *

          "Can't say I didn't see it coming. You've been spending every moment you can with him. Of course, you can go. With all my happiness for you."

* * *

          "Now, what about-"

My hand massaging my temples, over my eyes,"I don't know. This is the most ridiculous, frustrating relationship I've ever had. Talk about playing hard to get! And he uses the most eloquent language to get around the subject."

          "Ever think about pouncing?"

          Pouncing?" confusion on my face.

          "Boy, sometimes I think you're still a shitting teen, the things you don't know. Pounce, you idiot! Jump him! Find a way to get him to his place or even here and climb on top of him. Damn! Go for it!"

Stunned by the idea, which sounds both shocking and breathtaking, "I'll have to give that some thought."

          "Give it some thought? What the- what the fuck is wrong with you?" Rising up from his chair shaking his head in disbelief, he stares down at me. 

          "I'll place some lube in your drawer by your bed. My present to you. Screw the ass off him," he rumples my hair as he heads off to his room, snickering all the way.

* * *

Unfortunately, I don't see Sherlock for weeks. He and Victor have decided to take time off and journey to France. They're going to clubs there to interview dancers and maybe bring back one or two for their clubs.

* * *

I help Alan with his moving out, getting very well acquainted with Armond. I like the guy. He's good for Alan.

The empty flat becomes a lonely place to stay.

* * *

I spend most of my time at the clinic, letting Alan have time off to get established in his new home.


	12. The Massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Sherlock takes John. Aha! A massage and some porn!

Listening to Alan go on about how to seduce Sherlock is one thing, doing it is another. If I now invite Sherlock to my flat for dinner he'll suspect a seduction. So I hesitate.

* * *

Sherlock and Victor are back from France, having acquired two new dancers and a singer, a woman.

* * *

I'm at the club one night when Sherlock has the waiter bring me a note. 'Join me backstage.'

A large gift-wrapped box the size of a chair sits on the floor.

          "Happy birthday, John, open your present," leaning over the box, handing me a knife.

I open it to find another box the size a tie would be in. Didn't think Sherlock had it in him to work in a joke, so I smile up at him. 

Opening the smaller one, there's a gift certificate to a massage spa. A very expensive salon catering to all kinds of different therapies.

          "It's the establishment I attend when my body needs to loosen up and I want to compose myself," back in his chair, taking off the little makeup he wears onstage.

          "Wow! Never been to one of these! Thanks so much! Didn't know you knew when my birthday was either,"flabbergasted at the present.

          "I called Alan at the clinic and he gave me the information."

* * *

The next time I have free is in two weeks. The appointment made for late afternoon. I've been told I don't need anything special. They have it all at the spa.

* * *

          "I haven't heard when you've made your arrangement with the spa."

Giving him the date, he says he'd like to hear what I think of it.

* * *

Arriving at five I'm given a cocktail of juices, some crackers and led into a small white-walled room. Gentle music is playing. It smells almost sweet.

          "Hi, John, my name is Joseph. Remove all your clothes, lie on your back and place this towel over your middle. Ring this bell when ready for me."

          "I always thought massages were to my back, while I'm lying on my stomach," toeing off my shoes, pulling off my socks and undoing my shirt.

          "This is a frontal massage that was ordered for you," placing the towels on the table as I disrobe.

* * *

The room is white, nothing on the walls, but lit candles are sitting on the two tables on the sides of the room.

The scents are lavender and orange. Lying down, the towel draped over my middle, I'm ill at ease. Never had a massage in my life.

Bell rung, Joseph enters the room.

          "John, I'm going to blindfold you. Blindfolding lets you forget about your masseuse and enjoy the experience without sight."

* * *

How different this sounds to me. But, I let him blindfold me, then he also binds my wrists to the table, explaining that will also aid in the experience. If this salon was a cheap cheesy joint I would be suspicious. I know that Sherlock attends here so any misgivings are laid to rest

* * *

          "I'll be right back. Forgot the oils."

When next the door opens I'm lying ready for a quiet, relaxing rubdown.

I can smell the rose oil being rubbed on Joseph's hands.

Using two fingers from each hand, he presses into my temples for several seconds simultaneously, gliding his fingers down my cheeks, using tiny circular motions.

* * *

I hum softly, understanding now why the blindfold. I know I'd be tempted to keep my eyes open, but not being able to see I can concentrate totally on his fingers.

He traces my lips softly with one index finger sending a strong surge of pleasure through me. A comforting type of pleasure.

Squeezing and pulling my earlobes between his thumb and forefinger, while his tongue-wait a minute! Trying to jerk upwards, but the restraints hold me down.

This is a tongue circulating in and around my ears! A person's tongue!

It can't be Joseph! No masseuse would dare touch you with other than their hands.

Oh, shit! I now get the blindfold!

          "Sherlock, I know this has to be you. Sherlock, talk to me," his breath on my ears throwing my composure off-kilter. Relax? No way! I suspect, no I know, this is seduction! Seduction as only Sherlock would conceive it.

Meanwhile, his tongue continues to trace the C-shaped zone on the outer edge of my ear, fracturing my calm, my nerve endings vibrate. Neck to cheek flushes, reddening, his tongue rolling in my ear.

He stops, and I hear him rubbing oil on his hands.

* * *

Down at my feet, the arch of each foot massaged with a thumb. My heels and the balls of the foot rubbed gently with thumbs. Each toe gets its own attention with a light pulling.

          "Humm, that's good," panting with the effort to say something. Thinking to myself,'now this one hell of a way to snare someone into a fuck session.

I giggle, grasping at the fact that this is probably exactly what is happening to me right now.

With a hand on each leg, his strokes all the way from the calf to the upper thigh begin to skyrocket the electric sensation running over my body.

I'm not able to stay totally still, to loosen myself into it, to let up on this now frenzied beating inside me. 

My shaft alternating between slack and hard. Clenching the ties holding my wrists, my teeth biting my lips. 

That's Sherlock's hands on my body, on me, my body! Playing me, working me.

* * *

As he strokes each leg along my thigh, melting my flesh, I'm twisting myself to have him touch, reach my penis. 

Touch me, touch it!

I feel warm towels drape over my thighs. The experience, the warmth, oh so good, so erotic.

          "Do something! Oh," assaulting my brain, my whimpering, murmuring growing stronger. 

I can hear the slap of his palms, rubbing them, more oil.

At the socket of my hips, his palms knead the area, circling my belly button, toying with his fingertips, each circle bigger and bigger, stroking toward my belly.

Gliding his fingers up my stomach and sides, fingertips touching my nipples, rounding the areola, and again I feel a wetness, a licking of a tongue on each nipple. Stimulating with a slight nip, a rubbing.

          "Damn you, damn you," tears rolling down my cheeks. He licks them up, his tongue fleshy, rolling onto my lips, nibbling the bottom, teasing.

          "Stop, you have to stop, I'm going to- I need to-"my cry unheeded. 

Each movement now has me moaning, sighing with the hope of release soon.

My breath moving faster, shallower. I want to feel him, touch him, but all I can do is twist my hands in their bindings.

More oil applied, shifting himself behind my head, reaching over me to place one hand on my arms at the elbows and slides to my wrists.

Moving to my side, he's massaging my palms, a brush of his tongue, swirling circular motions, tickling, teasing. Throwing sparks into the iris of my eyes.

Hissing, head twisting, body squirming.

A sucking on a finger, slamming feelings into my shaft. Another finger dives into his mouth, dragging, while I shutter with each stroke. 

Moaning, gasping.

          "Stop, please, stop, oh," is all my brain can come up with, torture at not being able to seize his body and claim it.

All sensations of his hands are off me. No touching, no tongue. Nothing. I lie waiting, both of us breathing heavy, thick with our desire.

A quiet change in his position and he's between my legs, spreading them.

          "Oh please, please," gasping out, pushing up my hips.

Stroking, my groin crease, going up and down, lingering, circling with his fingertips.

          "Shit, oh shit," my head turning side to side.

The towel is off, my penis cupped by his palms.

          "No, no, oh no," my body jumping up, twisting.

He squeezes and strokes my penis… slowly… very slowly, starting at the base, and moving all the way up past the head.

Long glides from the head all the way down, alternating his hands.

Holding the base with one hand, skimming up the shaft to the head with the other hand and corkscrewing his hand off the head.

I'm going hard and then soft as his magical hands work me.

* * *

Moaning, humming, pushing up, twisting. The most sensual, the most wanton touching of my cock.

He keeps massaging the head and shaft in gentle twisting motions and moves to my perineum. Fingers touch back and forth over my pucker hole.

          "I'm going to, can't hold it-"

* * *

Suddenly his hands are off and his mouth encloses my prick and I enter his mouth, my juices overflowing. I keep pulsating over and over and over.

* * *

The blindfold is off, my hands untied, and the wonderful, radiant face of Sherlock is over me, kissing my cheeks, eyes, and lips.

          "Don't get up yet. Your body is weak at this moment," his soothing voice so close to me, so encompassing.

Warm towels are brushed over me, disposing of oils and semen, and a thick, fluffy robe is produced. Sherlock helps me sit up and the robe surrounds me. I've been taken apart, my eyes half-shut, legs buckling under me.

* * *

Holding me tightly around my waist we leave the room and enter a chamber down the hall. It's large with a king-size bed, small tables and chairs.

* * *

          "This is used for couples therapy. I have the place for the night. Lie down."

Removing our robes he slips under the down comforter with me.

          "Sherlock, what-"

          "Don't talk right now. Lie here and sleep. When you wake I'll be here. My John."

* * *

Those words, husky sounding, soft, were enough for me to close my eyes, his arms around me, knowing he'll be here, next to me.

* * *

Awakened in the night to lips tenderly touching mine. Fingers running over my chest and stomach.

          "Am I allowed to touch you, Sherlock?"

          "To your heart's content."

Following his gestures my palms surf over his chest and stomach.

Our breaths step up, my legs twisting around his.

I boldly top him, rubbing, pleasuring, taking in his scent, his every moan, the hiss through his teeth.

Lining up our members we easily find a rhythm and release almost together.

* * *

Catching our breaths, lying side by side, fingers intertwined, "What an incredible massage Sherlock. It was worth the wait." And I chuckle.

          "You see. It was a momentous occasion deserving a momentous summation."

          "In other words, you idiot, you made sure I remember my first sexual encounter with a male. You, in particular."

          "Yes. It's always going to be me, only me, from now on.

* * *

Sherlock rises to clean us up and we again fall into a sleep, holding onto one another.

* * *

Leaving the spa in the morning, we go our separate ways for the day.

* * *

At the clinic, Alan takes one look, thumbs up, and heads for his patient. I'm having lunch in my office, and Alan barges in.

          "You pounced. Tell me what you did."

          "No, I didn't pounce. But Sherlock certainly did," proceeding to tell him some of the details of my outlandish body massage.

* * *

          "Damn, the guy is good! Don't lose him."

          " I have no intention of letting him get out of my sight this time."


	13. The Final Split and The Final Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Sherlock split.

The night with John went just as planned. His level of trust once he identified I was his masseuse, his thrill, sensuality, raised my level of imparting satisfaction to him.

          "You finally took him, didn't you Sherlock?" Victor had noticed my night away from the flat. 

          "Yes. It was quite an undertaking. It had to be an intimacy such as he never had experienced or will again."

          " I guess you really care for this man," a statement not a question.

          "One I've never met before, an allure that continues to grow."

* * *

That evening, going backstage to Sherlock's room I encounter Victor.

          "John, I think you'll be a good partner for Sherlock."

          "Is that a sarcasm or a genuine wish?"

          "If I concluded for one instant that you'd be detrimental to him, I'd bounce you out of here. No, I meant that truly."

Giving a smile and with a wave of my hand, I open Sherlock's door, locking it behind me. Looking at me in his mirror, he can see the mischief written on my face, "John."

I straddle his legs, my arms around him, kissing his face.

          "No, not now, not here."

          "Anytime, anywhere. And here is as good a time as any."

Kissing and nipping at his neck, he hums a sound. I'm undulating against him, my middle against his hips.

I loosen the buttons on his pants, hand down inside, fingertips kneading, coaxing.

Bumping, squirming, the friction tightening our growing erections.

Leaning over him I try tugging down my jeans, his hands helping to pull them down, my bottom stroked.

Yanking out his shaft, mine expanding with the touch of his, our moans, whimpers kept low, until with shudders we ejaculate over each other.

* * *

My head flops onto his shoulder, his hands playful in my hair, our breaths calming.

          " Sherlock, I need to borrow a shirt. Mine is-" I begin to snicker.

Pushing off him, he has a damp flannel and wipes me off as best as possible.

* * *

          "I have a change of clothes for myself. My shirts will be spacious on you. Here, take this jacket."

It's a lightweight dark brown jacket which I wrap around me. That helps conceal the wetness and stickiness of my shirt.

          "Departing is not an option right now. I'd like to stay the night with you," Sherlock remarks, changing out to jeans and a purple shirt.

Oh, really! I think to myself, my eyes going wide.

          "What brings that on?"

          "Dr. John Watson, why do you question? We've become lovers. Isn't this what lovers do? Spend the night, immersing ourselves in sex?"

          "Hey, if that's what you want then that's what you'll get! Oh, and we'll need some sleep in-between."

          "Sleep! That's for the faint-hearted."

* * *

I wait for him to gather his toiletries and clothes, opening the door, Victor stops Sherlock with a hand to his chest.

          "Remember, we're starting the new dance routine with the new fellow, Jake, tomorrow morning. Be on your toes, and awake," bubbling with a certain triumph and with a swipe of his hand, eyes running down Sherlock's body, the suppressed laugh just about claiming him.

* * *

No more reserve, no more holding back. Sherlock took as well as he gave this wonderful night of exploration.

* * *

Exhaustion did find it's way to us and we slept wrapped around each other.

* * *

Morning came too soon, resulting in a scramble to shower, dress and devour a quick breakfast, of which I mostly ate, Sherlock nibbled.

* * *

We begin to establish a kind of routine, based on our work schedules.

* * *

          _Discussion required tonight. Meet at Toki restaurant at ten SH_

          _Will do. Anything wrong?_

I get no answer and that makes me worried. He usually texts right back.

* * *

I'm seated early, ordering what I think he'll want to eat. It's on the table when he finally shows up.

Looking up with questioning eyes,"So?"

          "Eat first."

Now I'm really uptight. Tapping my fingers on the table, "No, tell me now. My stomach won't take the suspense."

          "Victor is moving out, taking on a smaller residence," and with a slight hesitation, he continues, "it would be more suitable for us to commit to one residence. Mine is the more spacious and grander and more appropriate."

He's not exactly asking me, but, on the other hand, he is.

          "I hope he doesn't feel he has to move out, because of us."

          " No," huffing," Victor would like to have a relationship someday. But for now, he felt we would all benefit with this new arrangement."

          "Do you have any hesitation in this?"

          " Would it be a hindrance to our association, I wonder. Too familiar, the everyday exposure."

          "You mean, things like leaving your underwear on the floor, not washing your dish?" I chortle. He's perched on the edge of the seat, waiting, expecting me to recognize how horrid that would be.

          "Well, John?" eyebrows raised.

Should I let him dangle?

          "Okay, let's do it then. Whenever he's ready. I just have to give notice to my landlord," my features barely able to keep from cracking up. He's so serious.

* * *

Moving in is easy. Setting rules for how the house is run is more difficult. Sherlock is basically lazy. Keeping the house clean falls mainly on my shoulders.

Life with Sherlock will never be easy going. Our personalities clash almost constantly. I run to Mike's or Alan's place when the going gets tough.  
Yes. I now admit I'm gay. Living with a man who took my soul many years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> I have to thank my wonderful husband for helping me with the court trial. Even though it's not accurate as to reality it fits my story.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Want to thank my professor who worked with me this fall as I audited her class. An inspiration.  
> If you like, please show your appreciation and give me kudos.


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